Shattered Watch
by Alex Rogers-Stark
Summary: A pre-serum Steve Rogers somehow got himself time-whammied from the year 1942 to 2002. When this happened, Tony Stark was Steve's only hope in getting back home, except neither of them seemed to be able to be around one another without constantly stomping on one another's feet. Things get a little more complicated when they begin to fall in love. Part 1 of the Mending Dials series.
1. The Party

_Chapter One: The Party_

Beside a minimalistic amount of stranded photographs haphazardly lazing about the walls over one half of the room, the tan drywall remained an empty canvas. Decrepit, wiry blinds clung helplessly to the single window on the left wall, blocking a small portion of light from wafting in. Between a few cricks and bends, yellow rays swelled into the open area, providing dim, early morning light. While one nightstand had few belongings – an alarm clock, a lamp, a single photograph in a dark wooden frame, and a NOKIA cell phone – the other remained empty. Two twin beds lay on either side of the nightstands, their contents similarly different. The one closest to the window held a myriad of white sheets, blankets smooth and blank from disuse, open and waiting for an occupant. Its partner held a lump, twitching in minute intervals between navy blue, spaceship covers. A singular, black desk sat below the empty bed holding only four textbooks stacked atop one another. Their owner, a camouflage backpack leaning on one of the desk's legs, was sagged open tiredly. Opposite to the desk, a matching black wooden dresser stood with abandoned drawers. A small cluster of knickknacks littered the dusty surface.

Barren. The room was barren.

The liveliest thing in the room was the explosion of clothes from a duffle bag stuffed between bed and window.

Blaringly, the alarm clock began to ring, jarring the man in the bed. Bolting up, he narrowed his espresso colored eyes and violently reached for the source of the wretched noise. Grasping the clock between darkened hands, he looked at the time, cursing beneath his breath. O' six hundred.

Switching the alarm off, he looked to find the bed next to his unsurprisingly empty and sighed. Rubbing furiously at sleep-deprived eyes, the man got up and began pulling on a pair of grey sweats and a white tank top.

Most students were still asleep, which happened to be normal for six in the morning on a Saturday in the beginnings of summer at a university.

Stifling a yawn, the man trod through empty hallways, dancing around empty beer cans, liquor bottles, and junk-food wrappers. It was surprisingly clean compared to what the dorms normally looked like. Within the halls, everything was silent, and if he had stopped to listen long enough, he could catch a snore or moan, but he didn't. It was even dimmer in the hallways than his dorm room; the lights had been switched off long ago for the night.

His trek led him a quarter mile through the campus. In the early morning, the sunlight looked much paler than what he was used to, but he knew he needed to begin getting up earlier per his soon to be career. The air was light, most of the moisture clinging in droplets to the evergreen of the lawns. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of trees lining the courtyard. The grey colored stone of the walls and archways looked particularly soft in the lazy morning light.

As he expected, there were not many people milling about in the cafeteria. The shimmering, tan tile almost only held stainless steel tables and wooden chairs. The layout was quite open with two staircases on either end leading to a second floor. Meandering over to the small section of food, the man picked out a few lethargic cereal boxes and pathetic pieces of fruit before making a beeline for the coffee machine.

With the soft sounds of life brewing, he leaned his butt against the counter, folding his arms over his chest and staring blankly out the windows that made up the outside wall. A slightly blue tinted light filtered into the room as he waited for the machine to beep.

Against his better judgment, he grabbed a drink holder, filling four paper cups with dark, steamy liquid, placing two creams and five sugars into three of four cups. Each. Deciding that he was already being irresponsible with the large amounts of caffeine and sugar, the man replaced the current sugary cereals with a few Raisin Bran boxes and reached for an extra banana and apple.

And so, his long journey began.

It was a mile from the cafeteria, adding up for a grand total of two and a quarter miles from his dorm. That, in his opinion, was just an unfair amount of walking, and all for one person. The fact that he should be asleep in his dorm only added salt to the wound.

By the time he reached his building of destination, he'd worked himself into a stupor. Pushing his way into the building, he stalked the halls until finding the right door and opened it with a cacophonous bang.

The person inside startled spectacularly, tumbling off their stool and onto the floor.

Maybe it had been worth the time and walk.

Setting the coffees onto a matte, black counter, he announced to the person: "This, I swear, is the last time I get up at the crack of dawn to feed your ass." He paused before adding, "And if you leave my goddamn alarm clock on one more time, I will kick you out of _my_ dorm room."

It was an empty threat, and the boy on the floor knew it. Leaning up on his elbows, he gave the man a wide smile, his own brown eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Sorry, sweetheart; I'll try better next time." Pausing, the boy sniffed the air, smile widening. "Coffee?"

Falling back onto a stool of his own, the man looked around the room. It was in complete disarray. Machine parts and torn blueprints lay everywhere. Oil was leaking onto the once white floors in multiple spots, grease pooling in others. A whirring noise captured his attention, and he saw a machine trying to push through the rubble that surrounded them.

"Ah, ah, ah!" the man snapped as the boy reached for the second cup on the tray after downing the first one. "You eat the cereal and banana before you get the rest of these."

"But-" he began, a frown marring dirty features.

"Anthony Edward Stark," he warned.

"Rhodeeeeeyyyyy," the boy in question whined.

James Rhodes shook his head: "You're lucky I even got you coffee, much less three cups. Eat. This is the third night in a row that you've pulled an all-nighter, so, yes, coffee galore. I can't, however, in good conscience, allow you to hype yourself up on caffeine and sugar without something decent in your stomach as well."

Tony continued to frown, looking disgusted at the food items before him. "Raisin Bran? You actually want me to eat _Raisin Bran_? The most boring, disgusting, adult-y cereal in the whole wide world? Why do you hate me? It's because you're an old man slowly deteriorating while I'm still in my youth, isn't it? You jealous, Honey Bear?"

"Eat."

He grumbled as he tore open the box, complaining at Rhodey about bananas and how difficult they were to open until the man snatched the fruit from Tony's shaking hands and opened it for him. Tony ate the food, quick and dry, as fast as he could, diving back into the rest of the coffee in a matter of minutes.

Rhodey watched as Tony went back to work, the playful face changing into that of determination and focus. Having finished his own single cup of coffee, Rhodey made his way through the piles of unfinished machines, pushing them aside until he reached the frantic whirring. Clearing a path, he watched in amusement as a small robot zoomed from its entrapment, going directly over to Tony.

Blinking, Tony looked down as his stool was bumped into. "You freed him."

"You trapped him on purpose," Rhodey accused.

"Well, duh," Tony sighed, pushing the bot away with his foot. "Dum-E won't leave me alone, and I'm busy trying to get this project done."

"Is this the super-secret, science fair winning project you've been telling me about for the past few months?" Rhodey asked, once again settling himself on a stool.

Tony shot him a wide grin: "The one and only! But this baby is more than just a mere science fair project, Rhodey-bear. It's pure awesomeness that only my genius could come up with. And guess what? I'm almost finished."

"That's great, Tones, but just know I'm dragging you out of here at six tonight. Think of it as payback for your little alarm clock stunt," Rhodey told him.

Waving a hand dismissively, Tony went back to typing on his laptop: "No problem, honey-bunny. I'll be finished by then, and we can hit the 'Thank-God-Finals-Are-Over-And-Now-It's-Summer' party."

"Oh-ho, no. No way," Rhodey deadpanned. "Definitely, definitely not. You, kid, are going straight to bed."

Tony's head whipped around, mouth in an, "O."

"Tony, no. I'm not arguing about this. You've been in here for long enough. You need sleep," the man insisted.

"But Rhodey!" Tony whined. "They've been talking about this party for months! I have to go. Plus, I've only been up all night because of stupid school. Once I graduate, I'll have plenty more time to work on my stuff and get plenty more sleep."

"Tones, once you graduate, your dad is going to make you work at his company, and you'll probably have even less time to do all this," his friend told him, eyes a little dimmer.

Tony deflated at that. "Exactly. I should at least be able to have a little fun before dad takes everything away from me." Rhodey opened his mouth to respond, but that Stark smile was back in place, and Tony continued, "Pleeeaaassse? I'll sleep when I'm dead. Plus, you know you want to go to this party. We're almost done with college completely, which means we should for sure enjoy it as much as possible. That means attending awesome, amazing, booze-tastic MIT parties."

The older man looked towards the boy whose dark circles looked like bruising, and sighed, "No booze."

Perking up, Tony grinned cheekily. "Does this mean we're going?"

"And we're leaving at eleven forty-five," he continued.

"So we're going?" Tony prompted, eyes dancing.

"And, Mr. Wants-The-World-To-Think-He's-A-Ladies'-Man, you're sticking close to me the entire time. No trying to trick older women into hooking up with you," Rhodey demanded.

"Deal! Yes to all of that!" Tony exclaimed, jumping up to hug his best friend tightly.

Rhodey patted him on the head, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull Tony closer. Freeing him, Rhodey sighed, shooing the younger man away. "Now go. Get. You have to get that done so you can at least shower and change beforehand. You stink."

Tony stuck out his tongue: "Okay mother.

Heading out, Rhodey turned in the doorway. "Tony?"

"Mmmm Hmmm?" he hummed, already getting absorbed back into his work.

"Uh, see if-see if Pepper wants to come, okay?"

Smirking at the computer, Tony only gave a thumbs up in reply. After Rhodey left, he allowed himself to once again become fully sucked into the last throes of his project. He'd been working on the damned thing since he first got here, and now his love-child was about to be born. Tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth, cushioned by soft, rose-colored lips, Tony felt his excitement building up inside him. There was only so much more program left to type. He was in the final stretch.

The pseudo-lab was basically Tony's. Much of the school's faculty – with a little help from his father's money – had agreed that the Stark protégé should, indeed, have his own space to work. For the most part, it was a normal school lab. There was a counter outcropping from the wall all around the large, rectangular classroom with red-wood cabinets following along the bottom. Said cabinets also lined the walls of the room. A single, long lab table sat horizontally in the back; there had been three, but Tony had had two taken out for the extra space. The black surfaces remained opaque, and two sinks sat on either end of Tony's table and were also posted along the countertops. The sane cheap, tin-foil blinds that could be found in his dorm were sitting on the windows behind him filtering through the day's sunlight. A blue light blinked here and there from the floor and the depths of Tony's scraps where unused, unfinished, and old machines had been scattered.

With the smallest of utterances, a shining blue light sneakily began blinking from the camera on his computer.

Without his knowledge, the day had begun to fall away. The sun began to set, casting yellow rays against its backdrop horizon. The people outside who were still milling about smiled at the warm sight, ready for their summer vacation to begin. A warm breeze danced through their hair, eliciting pleased sighed and giggles from many students.

Tony Stark couldn't care less.

He knew he was being presumptuous as he loaded his completed program onto his Stark cell phone. Fitting in the Bluetooth earpiece he made at the beginning of the year, he tapped it; yet another blue glow emanated from its surface. Typing in a few last minute codes to sync up the earpiece with both his phone and his laptop, Tony held his breath. Hitting the enter key, he froze.

"H-hello?" he stammered, chocolate eyes as round as an owl's.

He was met with silence and let out a sigh. Back to the drawing board.

"Good evening, Sir. How is it that I can be of assistance to you today?" The sudden British voice in his ear made him stumble from his chair for the second time that day. "Sorry, Sir. My intention was not to frighten you. I had assumed you were, of course, aware of my presence. You did create me."

"I did it?!" Tony squeaked.

"It appears so," the voice deadpanned.

"Do you- you have an attitude," Tony grinned.

"I do believe the term: 'A.I.' is short for artificial intelligence. It should not be quite as shocking that I have my own personality. You are the genius, Sir."

"Well, aren't you just another rather very intelligent system?" Tony smirked.

"Another? I am afraid I was under the impression that I was the only one."

Tony nodded, "Oh, you are. You are. I am a genius, after all."

"Of course, Sir."

"What should I call you?" Tony mused to himself.

The voice from the earpiece responded quickly, "Your programming suggests my name to be J.A.R.V.I.S.. As you so eloquently put it not mere moments ago, I am Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System. That is the title of the program."

"That was supposed to be a joke," Tony muttered at his computer screen. "I guess I didn't think I'd get this far."

"Well, let me be the first to congratulate you, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. said, actually sounding pleased.

"Oh my God," Tony breathed, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh my-" he cut himself off, staring up at the screen. "I-uh, holy shit. Holy shit, holyshitholyshitholyshit."

"Tones!" the door to the lab opened, and Tony looked up to see Rhodey striding in, looking around the room for him. The boy in question hopped up, causing his friend to yell and place a hand over his heart just as Tony had moments ago. "Tony St-"

"I DID IT!" Tony yelled, scrambling over to Rhodey, fumbling to pull the earpiece from his person and handing it over, practically shoving it in the other man's ear. Rhodey tried to push him off, but Tony was a force to be reckoned with at this moment, and a few minutes later, the earpiece was in place. "Ask him a question. Tell him to make a joke. Anything, anything, ANYTHING!"

Rhodey's eyes went wide, and Tony looked at him in wonder. "Tones, why did the earpiece just tell me that it is not a toy for you to make mundane requests upon?"

"J.A.R.V.I.S. can hear me from over here?!" Tony gasped, running over to his computer and staring at it in awe.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Rhodey asked, listening as the earpiece once again began talking to him. His own eyes went wide. "Tony, what did you do?"

"I-I-" he looked wildly at Rhodey, smile so wide the man could see his gums. "I made an A.I. A real life, honest-to-God Artificial Intelligence. Give 'im back," Tony said, running over and making grabby hands. Rhodey dazedly handed the piece back to him, watching the boy chatter away at the thing in his ear.

Once the initial shock wore off, Rhodey couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh, "Oh my God. Tony, you-you-"

"I did!" he yelled again, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Jesus Christ!" Rhodey muttered, words coming out under his breath.

"Now this," Tony said, closing his laptop and walking up to the man, "this is cause for celebration."

Rhodey didn't protest as he followed the obviously exhausted boy out of the room. Tony was already swaying on his feet, but his excited babbling to the earpiece that was apparently the first ever A.I. made him seem almost okay. Although, on closer inspection, Rhodey thought the boy was more incoherently babbling than having an intellectual, in-depth conversation.

Making their way off campus, the two walked through the city streets until they found themselves walking across wet, deep green grass. Next to that was a forested area that, Tony would not even try to deny, was creepy as fuck during those cloudy, foggy days. Right now, though, the tall trees basked in their evergreen cloaks looking somewhat appealing rather than all murdery and stuff. What truly caught his attention, though, was the circular, cement amphitheater dug into the ground. It was small, so most students were milling about on the grass or probably getting down and dirty in the forest, but there were a few people inside the concrete haven, playing loud music from the center and serving a variety of drinks.

Immediately, Tony wanted a drink. He wanted one so badly that his mouth was drying up. Looking to Rhodey, the man only shook his head, folding his arms sternly across his chest.

"C'mon. Just one drink? To celebrate?" Tony asked.

"That was not the deal, Tones. You're underage and exhausted and functioning on practically zero food," his best friend told him.

"If I may," J.A.R.V.I.S. began to chime in, "Looking from past experience, Sir, I suggest we follow your friend's advice and stay away from the alcohol. However, should you continue to insist upon following such impulses, it will only take me mere seconds to find and then inform you on all of the ways in which your current drinking patterns may affect your life in the future."

Tony folded his own arms, pouting. "And how will you know I'm drinking? You can't see."

"Is he on my side?" Rhodey whispered.

"That is true, Sir, but I can hear. With the amount of data I am able to access, since my mind is currently occupying a computer device with access to the internet, I can quite easily distinguish the sounds of drinking," J.A.R.V.I.S. informed him.

"Oh yeah? What if I'm drinking water? You can't tell the difference between me drinking something good for me and drinking something fun," Tony declared.

By now a few people were looking over at him as he continued to talk aimlessly to himself having made his way from Rhodey. Rhodey, who had planned to keep an eye out for the kid, was smiling, waving, and walking over to a girl with vibrant red hair and a fairly professional outfit fitted with tall stilettos.

Meandering into the pit, Tony snuck a beer, leaving a five dollar bill in a glass mason jar, and slunk up the other side. Not many people bothered to greet the infamous inventor; however, a few shared with him a glare. With a huff, he sat at the edge of the forest, staring out into the city while sipping his beer. J.A.R.V.I.S. was quiet, obviously taking offense to Tony's little point. He'd have to make it up to him by finding a way for J.A.R.V.I.S. to see as well as move with him.

As he sipped his beer, Tony truly realized what a lightweight he was. The world was already a bit fuzzy and his racing mind had finally quieted enough for him to find peace. His pants were getting damp from the earth beneath him, tall trees towering behind him. A slight breeze pushed through them, wafting the scent of earth and rain in his direction as he looked up at the clear sky above. There were so many stars here. _You couldn't see that many stars in California or New York_ , he thought. In his mouth, the beer was flat and yeasty in its flavoring, but alcohol was alcohol, and he liked its hint in the back of his throat. Around him, crickets chirped. He could actually sit back and hear the crickets chirp!

And then he blinked.

With the bountiful breeze and chirping came another noise. Twisting around so he could look into the trees that seemed to reach up into the skyline, Tony peered into the undergrowth. On his hands and knees, he searched the darkness, curiosity coursing through his veins more so than fear. It seemed like someone was panting. Panting very heavily, actually, with the addition of a wheeze. There were also sounds of leaves being crunched and shuffled around as if the thing in the forest was stumbling. It became less of a "thing" and more of a "him" when Tony heard the muttered repetitions of: "Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot."

Pausing only for a moment, Tony called into the darkened trees: "Hello?"

There was a pause as the sounds stopped before a voice called quietly back to him: "Hello? I-uh-I don't quite know where I am."

"Did you get yourself lost in the forest? How? You're, like, two feet away from the edge. Just follow my voice," Tony called back with a roll of his eyes, listening as the shuffling got closer. Backing up and standing up, Tony gazed curiously as a human figure approached, stumbling one more time before sprawling out on the grass in front of him. "How drunk are you?" Tony wondered.

"I'm not drunk!" said the figure indignantly. At first, Tony thought it was a boy younger or about the same age as him, but as the person turned over, he realized he was wrong. The man, apparently, was just really, really small. His linbs were quite thin and gangly, and his form was meager at best. Looking him up and down, Tony sighed. The man still had him on height about one inch, and they could probably have a decent battle in mass. Maybe Tony was just destined to be a small, short, little man. He frowned at the thought, following it up with: but at least he'd eventually be taller and larger than the man before him.

"Then how is it," Tony asked, words slurring together just a bit, "you get lost two feet into a forest from a party that's too loud and bright to even begin to miss?"

The man turned over, glaring at Tony, who was struck by wide blue eyes. "I don't exactly know. One minute I'm in an alley minding my own business for once, and the next minute, some guy is spouting words like, 'Captain,' and, 'Iron,' whatever and, 'Avengers;' then I find myself in there."

Tony couldn't seem to find it in himself to really stand anymore. The tiredness was really beginning to creep up on him. Sitting heavily, he looked back at the man before him, blinking slowly. "That's one hell'u'va of story you got there."

"It's true," Mr. Blonde-Hair-Blue-Eyes snapped at him.

"Never said it wasn't," Tony snapped back.

"Can you please just tell me where I am so I can start making my way back home?" the man sighed.

"Okay," Tony drawled. "Welcome to Massachusetts."

The man blinked slowly at him, mouth hanging slack, and Tony was actually beginning to think there was a little truth to the story. He really did not sound drunk in the least, and those piercing eyes were bright and sharp.

"Where is it you need to go?" Tony asked, voice softening just a bit.

Once again blinking slowly, as if the information was quite a lot to handle, the man said, "Brooklyn. Brooklyn, New York."

Tony let out a small huff of laughter, sitting back down and playing with the grass on the ground beside him: "I know _where_ Brooklyn is. Well, you're definitely not in Kansas anymore."

"I- what? I'm not from Kansas," the man spluttered.

Tony gave him a toothy grin, " _Wizard of Oz_? Duh."

He was once again met with a long silence before: "What is _Wizard of Oz_? Are you- is this- what's going on? You're not a Nazi, are you?"

Snorting, Tony met his eyes: "Umm, no? Nazis are, like, the worst and everyone knows it. I mean, we won World War II a while ago; we all know Nazis are bad juju. I'm Tony Stark."

"What do you mean we won World War II a long time ago? The war is going on right now," the man insisted, and Tony was beginning to get slightly worried. The man hadn't even reacted to his name.

He shook his head: "Afraid not. Ended in, what, 1945? It's 2002."

"You're not just drunk?" the man asked with a raised brow.

Tony bristled, pulling out his phone, and swiping the screen to the calendar. He lifted the image towards Mr. Confused.

The man, looking between Tony and the device he was holding out to him, shook his head disbelievingly, muttering, "Oh no. This-this is not good." He also sat up, head snapping to look around him. The wheezing was coming back tenfold, and Tony knew panic when he saw it.

Hesitantly, he scooched forward, placing an arm on the man's bicep: "Uh, everything's okay. You're just a little confused, is all. Maybe we should get you some water and call an ambulance."

Eyes snapping back to meet Tony's, the man yanked his arm away and grounded out, "No. No, I'm Steve, Steve Rogers, and a few minutes ago, I was in 1942."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Thank you so much for reading! I also need to give credit to my very helpful and absolutely amazing beta reader, Cray Queen of Angst; it's been a pleasure and an honor working with her, and I hope there are more stories for us in the future!

The next chapter will be posted 23 December 2018.


	2. The Mysterious Man with No Plan

_Chapter Two: The Mysterious Man with No Plan_

Blue eyes opened softly to snowy light falling melodically around him, this off-balance color the only indication that morning had yet come today. Rolling over, he reached a hand outward, skating over soft, smooth satin that rolled beneath fingertips like waves kissing the shore. Around him, things were quiet; a calm sleeping in the cool air. Lethargically, he pulled a thick blanket farther around himself, allowing it to aid him in heating up a skeletal frame.

He felt himself drifting back to sleep, eyes closing to the dampened light when a banging erupted around him.

Flying up, he let the blanketed embrace shimmer off him and pool at his pelvis. Those same blue eyes darted about dizzyingly taking in both a familiar and unfamiliar sterile room.

No. No, it had to have been a dream.

The banging pounded through the room again, sending shock waves through his body, and his eyes snapped back to the door, the only thing standing between realities. This barren, empty room whose air was welcoming not moments ago became cold like ice, seeping sharply into his very bones.

So.

Steve really was in 2002.

* * *

The lesser part of this tale is, well, it's quite simple, actually. Once upon a time in the spring of 1942, a meager, blonde haired boy made his way to the infamous Stark convention – which may have also been yet another place the United States army was recruiting, but, really, what's a coincidence?

This meager young man, who looked to be just over eighteen but was really twenty-seven, went by the name of Steven Grant Rogers. A Steven Grant Rogers who currently found himself in a dark, grimy alleyway, which currently seemed more opportunity than misfortune.

His fists twitched in anticipation.

A smell of garbage and sewage slithered over the ground and into the air, crawling into the murky, rotted corners of neglected building. It infested everything with its stench, claiming it. Few murky puddles traipsed here and there, left over from the rain the previous night, seeping infestation and encouraging rot. The only light visible lay up ahead where the alleyway's maw opened like the beast it was, hurling its unwanted contents aside.

When first the silhouette cut through the light, a shot of adrenaline, misplaced excitement, struck through his veins. If someone were here to start something, he was ready. All they needed to do was begin the fight, and he would end it.

It was the raspy voice, the trickle of unfamiliarity, that had him pause.

Something wasn't right.

In his pause, the shadow before him raised what looked to be a sleek, white gun. In place of the barrel, a bright, neon green light began to emit, and the man started to speak. "My dear Captain, without you, the Avengers are to be rendered useless. Good luck saving your precious Iron Man now. Hail HYDRA!"

He automatically threw out his arms to protect his head and chest. It was useless. He knew it was useless. He couldn't help the gut reaction, though. The thought that it might help. Which it didn't. Did he go over that already? Steve honestly didn't know. He didn't know because said light seemed to consume him. It enveloped him like a cocoon, tightening around him until it was tighter than his skin, _squeezing_ him. It felt like his eyes were being pushed from his head. His eardrums oozed out like sand in an hourglass. His chest was constricting and something was definitely lodged in his throat. He couldn't breathe. He could not _breathe!_

The light drove into him manically, pecking at his skin, pulling at his taste buds, scraping the inside of his nose, digging farther and farther into his ears. It swallowed all of his senses like a bird of prey, and if he could feel his heart, he was sure it would be furiously beating against his ribcage in a painful, splintering punch. But he could feel nothing, taste nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing. All there was was light. Light painfully bright.

Was this what it was like to be dead?

Was he dead?!

As soon as the thought struck like a lightning bolt through his mind, a suctioning feeling began. Like a vacuum, the everything and nothing around him slammed back into him; an implosion of painful humanity into his mind.

Cool air licked at his skin like minute whips as air rushed around him. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with a night sky obscured by treetops, and it took him a second to realize he was falling. Back meeting ground, the breath he'd just got back escaped every tissue within his body. Eventually, with a desperate gasp, he got it back. Not a very large or kind gasp, but one that would last him enough to move onto a second one.

Wheezing, he crawled up onto all fours, watching as the ground swirled and spun around his hands, playing a nauseating game of tag with his focus. Doing his best to push himself up, Steve started to stumble forward, trying to find purchase with anything anywhere.

"Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot," he muttered, trying to calm his asthma into something far more manageable.

"Hello?" a voice reached to him in the dark. His insides warred with one another. This wasn't the same voice introduced to him just a few minutes ago, but there was no guarantee that the person calling out to him was friend or foe.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Hello? I-uh-I don't quite know where I am… or how I got here."

The voice in question snorted, and Steve felt a bolt of anger slice through him. "Did you get yourself lost in the forest? How? You're, like, two feet away from the edge. Just follow my voice," they mocked, and Steve had to take in a breath – or part of one – to push the annoyance aside as he did what they instructed. Pushing branches and shrubbery aside, he fumbled, bumbled, and stumbled until the forest threw him out before sewing itself back together behind him. "How drunk are you?"

Steve's head shot up, and he clambered to his feet, brushing the dirt off of him. "I'm not drunk," he snapped, and he finally got a good look at the person before him. They were, well, they were small. Smaller than him. Dulled, brown eyes stared into his own, and soft, rounded features were being kissed in all the right places by the soft moonlight. Currently, they were tilting their head at him, brows raised, rosy, round lips smashed into a flat line.

Of course, the man – possibly boy – opened his mouth, and it was like frigid water being dumped on him. Whoever this kid was, he was sarcastic and course and brash and insensitive and downright rude. Oh, and he may have also just said it was the year 2002.

Which leads us to the major part of this little – big? Depends on how who's looking at it – tale. Apparently, according to the tipsy boy in front of him, who was definitely not of age to drink if Steve went by maturity level, which he did. _Apparently_ , he had hopped all the way to the year 2002.

Which was impossible. Right? Absolutely impossible.

"No," Steve insisted, glaring down at the boy who was doing the same right back. If looks could kill. "No, my name is Steve Rogers, and a few minutes ago, I was in 1942." The kid continued to glare at him, features stiffening even further, if that was possible, at the sound of his name. He scoffed, looking over his shoulder and folding his arms. Steve wanted to shake him. He just wanted to wrangle the truth from the kid who was doing a great impression of a snide, stuck-up diva. Because something was going on, and he didn't appreciate this air of dismissal. Not time travel. No, definitely not that, but Steve wasn't dumb. _Something was_ going on. "I'm not crazy!" Steve ground out. "I'm not. You," he leaned forward accusingly, fists resting on his hips, getting into the boy's face with a harsh glare of his own, "you're trying to mess with me, and it's not funny." The more furious he got, the thicker his Brooklyn accent became apparent.

"What?!" the boy glowered. "Why would I even waste my time messing with _you_ , some Captain America wannabe? But, sorry, you don't really make the cut," he sneered, using his fingers to cut a square into the air.

"I. AM. NOT. LYING!" Steve yelled, stepping closer, making the kid take his own stumbling step back. The pinched, antagonizing look on his face never changed, though. " _I_ ," Steve pointed to himself, "am not lying. You are." His finger poked the kid in the chest. He had to be lying, Steve thought wildly. He had to be. There was no other explanation.

Adrenaline throbbed through his body, pulsing with the ever quickening beat of his heart. He felt dizzy, like he was looking at the boy in front of him through a small tube. It felt like something strong and thick was wrapping itself around his neck and his chest, breaking his ribcage into painful shards that poked at every breath he tried to take.

"Don't touch me," the kid said in a low, dangerous voice, smacking Steve's hand away in a stinging embrace.

"Don't lie to me," Steve ordered in a deafening wheeze.

"I'm not LYING!" the boy screeched, throwing his hands in the air and walking away before turning around to march right back to him. "And why don't you take a breath like a normal human? Huh? Like, an actual breath, because it'd be very inconvenient for me to witness death while at such a young age."

"Because that's how asthma works," Steve pinched out, shooting the kid one last narrow eyed glare before sinking to the ground in a crouch. Placing his head between his knees and reaching his hands to rest on the back of his head, Steve tried to breath. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears. It was almost deafening. "It's 1942," Steve muttered. "I'm from 1942."

There was a pause, or maybe he really had gone deaf, but after a minute, he heard the kid say, "I'm not buying it. Y'know, maybe it would've worked better if you weren't pretending to be the great and mighty Captain America," he leered the name. "Although, my dad tells me he would have a stick up his ass like you do, so, there is that."

"Fight me, kid," Steve gasped.

"Woah-ho. Bit of a tall order, there, Cappy. You do realize you're keeled over and unable to breathe, right? Like, I'm not the best fighter, but even I could take you like this."

Steve tried to straighten up, breaths coming just a little easier. "I was told I never knew when to give up."

The boy blinked at him before folding his arms, turning his head up and away, and pursing his lips. After a moment, his shoulders tensed, and his eyes glanced to Steve before sliding away just as quickly. "J, time travel is impossible; he's more likely some crazed lunatic," he muttered to himself. Another pause, and Steve clenched his jaw, waiting, wondering what the kid would do. "How do we prove it, then?" After a moment, he began digging into his pocket, and Steve blinked, a trickle of suspicious worry shooting through him. Before he could react, the boy raised up a rectangular contraption and shot a bright light from it. For a moment, Steve felt regret and fear tingle through him as he waited for this light to overtake him just as the last one had done. It didn't, and he blinked his eyes open to see the kid poking at it with his thumbs. "Compare this photo to any others you can find. I want you to run a full photographic and facial analysis, and I want it to be legit. That means you may have to hack into some… not really welcoming servers and extract the evidence. There have to be pictures of him pre-serum somewhere, so check anything you think may hold the information. Just cover your tracks, and don't get caught."

"What did you just do to me?!" Steve bit out.

"Oh, calm down," the boy rolled his eyes and waved at him, turning his back towards Steve as he continued to poke at the device.

"Are-are you some sort of spy?! A-a Nazi?! WHAT DID YOU JUST DO TO ME?!"

The kid turned swiftly around, stomping over to Steve and getting on his tip-toes to get into his face. "Will you shut the hell up? You're attracting a lot of unwanted attention right now. And if your whole _Time Traveler's Wife_ story just happens to be true, that is the last fucking thing you want. Now if you could stop being a real dick for, like, one second – which I know, I know, is a lot to ask of you – I can make sure you're not lying to me or some insane person, and we can figure the rest out from there."

"I'm not crazy!" Steve cried but did lower his voice as he glanced around. Which was a bad idea, the glancing around because, oh boy, did that make his denial a lot more difficult to accept.

The kid snorted, "Says you. And crazy people always think they're not…" he whistled, twirling his finger at his temple all while staring intently down at that object in his hand.

"What is that?" Steve asked softly, hoarsely.

The kid's eyes looked up at him beneath thick lashes, head still craned towards the object. "Uh, a phone?"

"That's a telephone," Steve repeated slowly, head truly beginning to pound.

"Yup," the boy said, ending the word with a loud pop. "I'm waiting for J.A.R.V.I.S. to confirm your-well… your whatever it is."

"Who's J.A.R.V.I.S. and how- I," he closed his mouth with an audible pop as his thoughts came out in a jumble, one stuttering over the other, and he opened it again before closing it once more, then repeated the movement several time until continuing, "look, I just need to get home, alright? Just point me to- in...in the right direction. To Brooklyn. I live in Brooklyn."

Just as he finished, the object pinged, and the boy raised his brows, looking between Steve and his phone. "Well I'll be damned," he choked out. "Captain America," he lowered his voice, talking under his breath so that Steve could just barely make him out. "That was, like, my favorite superhero ever, but you should never meet your heroes, Tony, because, honestly, he's a bit of a dick."

"What are you even talking about?!" and the angry sentence came out far more like a plea than anything else. The kid's eyes softened just a tad as they met Steve's own, something akin to pity shining in there that made Steve unbearably angry. He didn't need pity. He just needed to get home. "I'm not crazy!" he hissed.

"Never said you were," the boy shrugged, softened look gone. "But, uhh, I don't think you going home," he coughed, looking at his shoes. "I don't think that's gonna work out so well."

"Yeah, and why not?"

"For starters," he frowned, giving Steve a pointed look. "You're kinda in 2002, which I feel like we've gone over before, but you don't seem to quite be getting it."

"That's because time travel… time travel is impossible," Steve countered.

"And yet here you are," the kid sneered. Stepping to the side, he pointed toward the street. "Look! Do those look like 1940's cars? Like a normal 1940's street?" Steve's eyes snapped in the direction Tony was pointing, heart racing. There had to be something, anything, that explained why everything here seemed to be off kilter. Normal, but not quite. Something that was not time travel. "And what about that, oh Captain my Captain?" the boy pointed towards something to his left that seemed to be the source of the music playing. The strange, pumping music. "And how 'bout that?" he finished, tossing Steve the device he'd help up to his face just a few minutes ago.

He caught it in unbalanced hands, staring down at it. It was nothing special. Just a piece of plastic. Just a mere piece of plastic.

The boy walked forward, pressing a button to light up what looked to be a miniaturized screen that switched its image when the kid pressed his thumb to a circle at the bottom that had a slight blue glow to it. "And keep in mind, this is a prototype, so the phone is actually far more advanced than anyone else's, but you get the drift. Toto, I've a feeling you're not in Kansas anymore."

"I'm not from Kansas," Steve replied meekly, still staring down at the device in his hands, feeling nausea and fear and dizziness crash over him like a wave all at once. He was going to be sick.

Silently, he watched at the kid pulled the phone away from his palms. His empty hands were shiny from sweat and shaking uncontrollably.

"This is impossible," he muttered, finally looking up to meet the boy's eyes, which were watching him in a narrowed manner, mouth pulled taut. "This is _impossible_."

"I'll get you home," the kid blurted. "I mean, you're kind of in luck because I'm a genius. Like, the evolutionary mind of my time, so I'll get you home. If someone got you here, then obviously I can get you back because, honestly, other people are just idiots. This should- it should actually be easy if you think about it like that. Which I am. And trust me, neither of us want you to be here," he told Steve, and then adding as an afterthought, "For the, uh, the space-time continuum. So, yeah. Yeah! I'll get you home." He sighed, looking over his shoulders to the glowing street that seemed like a beckoning land from a fairy tale. "Build a time machine. That should… it'll be fun. One last… one last hurrah," he said, sounding wistful. Steve coughed, trying to suck in a breath, mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. He barely heard the kid's ramblings, but he hadn't seemed to notice. Or care, for that matter, because he just kept. On. Talking. "We should go. I'll get you an inhaler from a drug store on the way back because you are dangerously close to turning blue. Oh my God! First, you were red 'cause you were angry, then white 'cause of shock, and now you're blue because you can't breathe. That's, that's kinda hilarious if you understood the joke there, which you didn't, and you won't, for the sake of space and time and continuum. Anyway, let's save your life by leaving and getting an inhaler. My evenings officially ruined anyway. Thanks, by the way, for that. Somehow, you made beer taste bad; I mean, I will never look at it the same again. I spilled it. All over me. It's gross… I'm sticky-"

"Will you just… shut up?!" Steve growled. All he wanted to do was focus on his breathing. No, he _needed_ to focus on his breathing. Just his breathing and nothing else. Not all… all of whatever this was, and definitely not the brat babbling to him right now. Just try to get a breath in for ten seconds and listen to the wheeze as you force it passed your closing throat. Yeah, no, nothing to worry about here, folks. He could picture it now: "Here Lies Steve G. Rogers who did not, in fact, die fighting for our country in the war, but on account of an asthma attack caused by an annoying, little boy."

The boy spoke again, but he did seem a little more subdued as he fought to be heard over the roaring in Steve's ears. "I… c'mon. Let's go, Steve-o. I know staying here is probably what sounds like the best option, what, with your dying lungs and all that, but I can help with that if you just come with me, okay? I'll buy you an inhaler, we can go back to my dorm where you can sleep and take a shower because you smell like garbage and sewer. Where even were you before you showed up? Did they not have soap and showers in the '40s? Never mind. Anyway, we should go. Get you an inhaler. But remember, I saved your life. Twice after I get you home, so you owe me. Big time."

He watched as the kid walked slowly over to him and felt rather than saw his arm get tugged not so gently. Steve wanted to snap and roar and yank his arm away from this boy whom he trusted as far as he could throw right now. And by the fact that he could barely walk, that wasn't far at all. But yelling, fighting, pulling himself away from this kid did not fall under the category of: Stare at the Ground and Try to Breathe, so he allowed himself to be pulled forth into what may very well be enemy territory.

He had heard something about German scientists making advanced weapons with nuclear technology. Never having been anywhere but New York his whole life, how could he say the Axis powers weren't advanced in other technologies giving their country a… futuristic look?

It was… it was possible. More possible than time travel, at least. Right? Just simple teleportation.

Steve groaned. He sounded crazy even to himself.

It wasn't until the rushing of cool air greeted his face with light kisses that he realized the boy had led him into a store. Everything between now and the park was a drowning blur of messy lights everywhere around him that whispered to him like sirens to just look up. Take a peak. See what this world really has to offer. He hadn't, but the temptation was there, niggling at the back of his mind.

The store in question was almost normal. Almost. If he ignored the door that opened all on its own just as they approached it, he could just fool himself into thinking such. It was like walking into an alternate reality. Everything was similar. Similar, but still off. It added to his hesitancy. He could feel his palms become sticky and sweaty again as he clenched and unclenched them over and over.

Numbly, he followed the boy down the mazes of isles and up to a counter. Steve eyed the cash register as it blinked words and numbers at him, and a square box with buttons did the same. The kid pulled out a thin, plastic rectangle, and began tapping it against the counter as they waited for someone to come to them.

"I'm gonna sit," Steve said in a strained voice, already walking over to the seats lining the wall and collapsing into them. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and pinching the bridge of his nose until he felt pain bloom between his eyes.

The kid followed soon enough, sitting down next to him and holding something red out in his hand. Steve looked at it, and it looked similar to the inhalers he'd seen through store windows and posters, but, like everything else, was off.

"I had exercise-induced asthma as a kid. Grew out of it, though. Or maybe I just stopped exercising," the kid told Steve in a soft voice. He was looking at the older man with soft eyes. "Anyway, you put your mouth in this side," he began, tapping what looked like the bottom of an "L." "Then you press this cylinder down and breathe in as deep as you can and hold your breath for as long as you can, about thirty seconds, then breathe out. You'll do that one more time, and then you should be all better!"

Steve eyed it suspiciously, but the kid just continued to hold it out in a steady hand. He looked up to meet autumnal eyes, and the kid just raised his brow at him, waiting, possibly even challenging Steve to take it and use it.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't, Steve thought.

Reaching for the object, Steve stared forward blankly as he did what he'd been instructed to do. This could very well kill him. It could be filled with poison. But what choice did he have? Whoever that man was who sent him here, whoever this boy was, and whether they were in league with one another or not, Steve was stuck. Wherever this was, he was stuck.

He felt empty. It was a weird feeling; one he'd never really experienced before because there was always a way out. There was always another option. A way to win. It didn't feel like there was much of a way to win this one. Whatever this one was. He supposed taking this inhaler was taking a chance on a way out, but he was also aware that it was taking a chance on finding no way out.

His head and vision swam, and he felt a tired ache settle in his bones. Then his vision began to clear as he breathed out, but the exhaustion remained. Taking another hit of the medicine, he held his breath again, but nothing happened. Nothing except the feeling of his throat opening. Muscles easing back into rest.

"So," he breathed out, feeling like a smoker exhaling their hit of a cigarette. "2002…" Steve continued to stare ahead, rubbing his hand roughly over his flattened mouth.

"Yup," the boy agreed, staring forward as well.

It should be good. Great, even, him being able to breathe. For the first time in his life, Steve felt like he could actually take a full, decent breath without the worry of falling folly to another attack. It should be good.

He felt the ache settle deeper into his bones.

"C'mon," the kid told him, pushing himself from the seat. "Let's go shower and get some rest."

They continued to walk. Steve wasn't sure where he was being led at this point, but he obediently staggered behind. He was tired. He clutched the inhaler tightly in his hand like his life depended on it.

The kid led him through a large, grassy courtyard with the greenest grass Steve had ever seen. They walked into one of the many grey buildings that surrounded them, and then through what seemed like endless hallways and up in futuristic elevators. They didn't speak much more, and the boy gave him a towel and some supplies for the shower, which they took their time for. The hot water and steam and sweet smells were nice, even if they couldn't quite sooth his nerves.

It was back in a dorm with empty walls and barren space that the boy finally spoke: "You need a bed." Steve looked over to see the boy staring at him studiously, head tilted to the side in an overly endearing manner causing a slight blush to taint his cheeks; a heat that Steve didn't want to begin to analyze caressed his skin. The kid snapped his fingers, making Steve jump and look away, shaking himself violently. "I know a guy," the boy said, walking to the door, his pajama bottoms brushing passed his feet. "He's, uh, a friend. Of mine. Anyway, he told me he'd be out all night, probably wouldn't even be back tomorrow, so I'm sure he won't mind if we go in there and borrow his mattress. Tomorrow we'll get you your own, or whatever, but, for now, you can use his."

"And this won't be a problem?" Steve questioned, following the kid out into the hallway. "For your friend?"

He stopped, turning to Steve with a wicked smile then shrugged before moving forward again. All Steve could do was follow, not sure what the truth behind that smile was but sure it meant nothing good. He watched with rapt attention as the boy stopped in front of a door, knelt down, and poked two slim pieces of metal into the lock. It shouldn't have impressed him when the door clicked and swung open.

The kid entered the room while Steve stayed outside, folding his arms around himself, letting his head fall forward. His head snapped back up when the boy poked his head out and gave him a look. "Well?" he asked. "You gonna help me or not?"

"Why does it feel like you're up to something?" Steve asked monotonously, looking through the kid more than at him.

The kid blinked, face going slack, eyes going wide. Again, he tilted his head. "What do you mean? I just want you to have a mattress to sleep on." Steve didn't move, just blinking back at the boy. "C'mon," he said. "Let's just… you're tired; I'm tired. Help me out so we can get this over with and go to bed. In the morning, we'll figure everything out."

Steve nodded, moving to grab the end of the mattress poking out from the doorway. Right. Morning. Maybe this was all some sort of crazy dream, and he'd wake up, and it would all be okay.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and a huge, HUGE thank you for reading! :)

Another thanks to my loverly beta reader: Cray Queen of Angst, and the next update will be late in the day on 3 January 2019! Happy New Year, folks!


	3. The Morning After

_Chapter Three: The Morning After_

Tony opened his eyes to be greeted by the beginnings of a murky day. Dawn began to color the sky like the start up of a PC, and he immediately sat up to see a mattress on the floor along with a bundle of crazy blond hair sticking out of the extra tick blanket he had had on hand.

Okay. So Captain America really did come to the future as not-cap and yell at Tony like he had personally offended his sweet, fragile grandmother. That hadn't been some sleep deprived, alcohol induced dream.

And he had so been hoping.

Heavily dragging himself out of bed, Tony pulled on some clothes that smelled clean enough, which was definitely a thing, thank you very much Rhodey, and made a mental note to ask the man, or even Pepper, about the laundry. Mostly, one of them doing Tony's laundry for him while Tony was (preferably) still working in his lab, or (disagreeably) getting dragged to the laundromat to pretend he had no idea how technology worked – as if – sit on one of the shaking machines and eat candy from one of those really fun candy shops that had the bazillions of clear, plastic containers and scoops with literal tons of delicious, sugary treats hidden inside. And all that that was very accurate, definitely not over exaggerated, necessary information (thank you Pepper).

He did love those candy shops. Almost made going to the laundromat worth it. A very fat, supernova-sized, almost. He could just as well eat the same candy in his lab while he worked. And wasn't that a genius plan?!

Doing his best to keep quiet, because, yes, he did feel just a smidgen guilty for waking Rhodey up so early yesterday, he tumbled his tired limbs around the room to gather whatever might be necessary for a half decent morning to possibly make up for the disaster that was last night.

 _Let's call it, The Night We Do Not Speak Of,_ Tony thought to himself as he moved about.

And speaking of, as he stepped over one Captain America who was not yet Captain America, he made sure to stick his tongue out at the ass-hat, because, despite the comics and the legends, that was definitely what the man was. Ending up sixty-two years into the future was no excuse to be that rude if Tony did say so himself, and he did. He had even promised, out of the kindness of his heart, the good Captain Stick-Up-His-Ass to make a time machine to get him home. And he gave him an inhaler. And a place to sleep.

Jeez, his philanthropy meter was through the roof this month! Check that out, Howard! Why go to boring charity galas and kiss babies' heads and tell old people that they looked twenty when they really just looked like they should already be in the ground when he could do this? Philanthropy _and_ science. And here people said it couldn't be done.

As he reached the door, he looked back at Rogers and hesitated, looking over the man. Howard could never find out about this either. Ever. If he did… Tony shuttered as a million different versions of his long, torturous death played out in front of his eyes. His father would more than fuck him up, though. Howard would… Howard would fuck up the whole space-time continuum all for a little bit of glory, of fame, of money. Rogers, a time machine, J.A.R.V.I.S.. His father could find out about none of them.

Slipping out, Tony began making his way to his lab, stopping only to brush his teeth and wonder where the hell Rhodey found that coffee yesterday. Pulling his arms tighter around himself, he moved quickly across the quad. It was cold for a summer morning, and Tony knew it foreshadowed a stormy day. If a cold front had come in and pushed the warm, summer air higher into the atmosphere, then he was positive cumulonimbus clouds lurked above him, watching, waiting in the depths of the fog just outside his line of sight. It wasn't surprising – expected, in fact – with living on the coast, but Tony shivered slightly, cause not by chill in the air, as he stared above him. He wondered what predator awaited him up there.

Shaking himself, he blinked back to reality, training his eyes on the ground beneath him. Right. Stupid. There was nothing there. But his step hurried just a bit more.

Forcing himself passed the safety of the building that contained his lab, Tony clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes, making himself focus his thoughts on the one thing he wanted most in life. Coffee. He was going to go find coffee. He needed coffee. If Steve Fucking Rogers was going to show up and make Tony get himself up at the ass crack of dawn to begin working on a damn time machine – a _time machine! –_ then he more than deserved a bit of coffee. Good coffee. So, really, the extra hour and a half it took to walk to the nearest Starbucks, wait in line, order, and wait for said order was done solely because he wanted good coffee. There was absolutely no other reason. None at all.

By the time he got back to his lab, it had begun to drizzle through the mist.

 _Yes indeed_ , he thought. _There's a storm a'comin'_.

Walking into the lab greeted him with a silence only broken by his own footsteps and the pattering of rain outside the windows. He immediately walked over to his computer and placed the Bluetooth back into his ear.

"How's my darling? Has everyone been good while daddy was out of town?" Tony asked.

"Yes, sir. We are more than capable of handling ourselves. Some more so than others, though," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied.

"Did Dum-E get into trouble again?" Tony questioned, eyes scanning the room for something broken and misplaced, which was like looking for someone else's hay in his haystack.

"Nothing that wasn't taken care of."

From the darkness, Tony heard his bot beep somewhat sadly, and he chuckled. "I have no doubts."

"I was also able to collect more information on Project Rebirth and Steven Grant Rogers, although the amount still remains small and unimportant," J.A.R.V.I.S. informed him, and Tony waved him off.

"No worries, J. I'm not particularly interested in Project Rebirth and the super-serum, even if more muscles would be cool," he admitted off-handedly. "The focus now, J, is building a time machine to get one Captain America back where he belongs. As soon as possible. Time travel is turning out to be a lot less fun than I thought it would be," Tony wined.

"A real shock there, sir. As always, you're right on the pulse of the problem."

"Well, plus space-time continuum and world safety and all that. So, as you can see, J, there are many reasons why this project needs to remain highly classified. I'm talking top secret. This means we're going to have to begin making our own firewalls. Firewalls that are a million times stronger than the horrendous ones made by those amateurs at the Pentagon."

"Of course, sir."

"Alright!" Tony exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and smiling. "Let's get to work."

"Shall I put on your music?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asked.

Tony's gaze slid towards the window, watching, almost as if in a trance, as the fog rolled by ever so slowly. He cleared his throat, digging short fingernails into his palms. "No, J. Not today."

The morning was spent in a silence eventually only broken by the sounds of rain droplets beginning to beat against the window. Tony's jaw clenched slightly, hands becoming slightly clumsier with the tools. It might be a light tapping now, but it wouldn't stay that way for very long. Storms build, just like him. They start out something small and grow large and amazing. Sometimes absolutely horrid, but amazing nonetheless.

He was just at the point where his hands fluttered smoothly about his tools, mind working seamlessly to come up with yet another answer to a seemingly unsolvable problem when a loud scream and clattering came from the direction of the door. Now, he'd like to say that he reacted in a quick, handle-the-situation-before-it-got-out-of-hand manner, and that's exactly what he would tell Rhodey, but, well…

"Jesus Christ!" he yelped, in a totally manly way, fell from his chair – for the second day in a row, might he add. Must be a new record and definitely not how he originally hoped such a pain in his ass would occur – and laid there for a minute staring at the ceiling and wondering where in life he had gone wrong.

Eventually, he pulled himself up, peering over the tabletop only to be greeted with a kind of spectacular sight. Dum-E stood prominently over the person who'd just entered, waving his (now mostly empty) fire extinguisher around while said person spluttered from the large amounts of foam currently covering them. Dum-E let the fire extinguisher go off twice more – the final spurt coming out in a weak trickle – before dropping it onto said human sundae (seriously, all they needed was a cherry on top and the dessert would be complete) and wheeling away like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Tony was torn. Part of him wanted to be pissed because the All-American-Captain was invading his personal space, and the man was 100% not invited to be in there and 100% invited to leave immediately. The other part wanted to pull out his phone, take a couple of good pictures and die right there of laughter. Because this shit was fucking hilarious.

In the end, he compromised. Crouching back behind the table, Tony did his best to stifle the peals of laughter fighting their way from his lungs and brain. When he thought himself under control, he stood, brushing himself off and stalking over to Rogers. Stopping in front of the man who was currently a heap in the middle of fallen piles of metal scraps, he placed his hands on his hips and glared down at the larger man.

"I have _so_ many questions right now ranging from inappropriate to _very_ inappropriate. Which would you like to hear first?"

Rogers glared at him, breathing a little heavily, and, rather than respond to his question – which, c'mon, rude – he once again dove right into berating Tony. "The mattress," he wheezed, pushing off the fire extinguisher with a wince, a loud clang echoing through the workshop. "The one you supposedly borrowed last night? The owner, guy named Hammer or something, woke me and your roommate up a little under an hour ago by pounding on the door and demanding it back. You're lucky your roommate backed you up the way he did."

"Gee, thanks for the lecture, mom. I'll be sure to send him a thank-you card when I get home after school today," Tony sneered. "What are you doing here, Rogers?"

The man looked at him as if he couldn't comprehend the words that just left Tony's mouth, which, wasn't shocking. Many people wouldn't. As he said, he was cursed to be surrounded by idiots.

"I'm sorry-" Rogers began.

"Apology _not_ accepted."

Rogers paused, closing his eyes and digging through his pockets until the inhaler from last night popped out, a bright red contrast to the stark white foam. _Found the_ cherry, Tony thought wildly.

As Steve took a deep drag from it, Tony could see the tightness in the older man's face. A spurt of glee shot up Tony's spine. How fun. Twisting Captain America's panties was definitely becoming a favorite pastime at an exponential rate.

"You weren't in the room when I woke up," Rogers stated.

Tony blinked at him: "What?"

"You weren't there," Rogers repeated. "I'm…" he swallowed thickly, "I'm stuck here in the future, okay? I don't understand this place, and I don't know this place. It's disorienting," he spat it as if the last word were poison in his mouth. An admittance that he didn't want, but was forced, to make. "It's not fun; it's not a game. You're the only person I know who knows I'm from 1942, and I woke up, and you were gone."

Unbidden to him, his cheeks flushed slightly, heart giving the weakest of flutters. Nope. That needed to stop immediately. "Who cares if I'm not there in the mornings?" he snapped, clenching his teeth and fists, reaching for the all too familiar, and far more comforting, anger. It was not Rogers' place to want Tony at his beck and call just because he was scared and alone, and Tony just happened to be the best option. "I'm not your dammed babysitter."

"I'm not asking you to be my babysitter; I'm asking you to be considerate. I may never get home-"

"I told you I'd get you home," Tony snapped. "You think I can't follow through?"

Rogers crossed his arms, glaring down at Tony, and Tony wanted to lunge at him. This man, with no serum at all, had no right looking down on and at him. He would only be getting bigger, too; in fact, his ego would probably just grow like the rest of him with that serum of his. And to think this is the man his father admired so. It was like Howard, himself, had personally drafted, planned, funded, and built a nightmare for Tony.

"And I'm supposed to just… what? Believe you? I don't even know you. There's a high chance that I won't be getting home. Maybe…" Rogers sighed, looking away and running a hand through his afro foamed (afroamedTM) hair. His jaw ticked slightly. "Maybe I should prepare myself for the possibility of being here for a while."

"I'm Tony Stark!" Tony grit out. "I'm a genius. I-"

"Stark?" Steve interrupted, familiarity lacing his tone like a poison. "As in Howard Stark?"

Shit. He hadn't meant to bring up that part. Actually, he'd been doing so well with not even mentioning his name. Period. He just… that look on Rogers face made his toes curl and his chest tighten. The look that just _screamed_ expected incompetence. Gleefully shouted its disappointment. He'd seen it enough times to know exactly what those looks meant without question, and he didn't need that look to haunt him here as well.

The switch was instantaneous. He could see himself being lost in his father's shadow, being compared to amazing, but unfulfilled, promises. Not that Rogers, or anyone else, knew about the unfulfilled part. Tony did a fan-fucking-tastic job of hiding that for Howard.

Tony pursed his lips and suddenly could not bring himself to look into blue eyes. He began tapping his feet, shifting from one foot to the other, slowly, steadily, working his way back to the table. Or better yet, behind the table so there would be something between him and Rogers.

"You're related to Howard Stark?" Rogers questioned, stepping forward as if to follow him.

Tony stumbled slightly, but his hand caught him on the edge of the table. "So?" Tony asked defiantly, challengingly.

"Is he nearby?" the man asked, excitement bubbling in his vocal cords. "Can we- can we go to him? Let him know that I'm from the past? He can help; I've heard about his technology. The man is smart."

"I'm smart," Tony murmured, voice soft and unintelligible.

"He'll definitely be able to help! I mean, he was advertising the unveiling of a _flying car_ , for gosh sakes. Just imagine what he can do now!" Rogers exclaimed, a wistful and star-struck quality framing his tone.

"I don't need to imagine, and I can guarantee that you'll be sorely disappointed. We're not going to Howard," Tony refused in a low voice. He kept his shaking, sweaty palms flat on the cool surface of the tabletop.

"Why not?" Rogers asked. "Why? He can help. He's a genius."

"No, he's not!" Tony erupted. "He is not a genius! _I_ am! His IQ doesn't even come close to mine, so you're already barking up the wrong tree. And in case you didn't notice, you being here is probably fucking up the space-time-continuum already, and I am not letting Howard screw with that even more. For God's sake, will you just shut up and listen to me?!"

"You're just a kid!" Rogers countered, and Tony had never wanted to punch someone more in his life. "An immature, snobby kid, for that matter. And look, I'm thankful you helped me out last night; I really am, but you haven't really given me anything to make me trust in you. Howard Stark is my best bet, _and_ he's your dad. You have to-"

"I have to do nothing," Tony seethed. "And guess what? You're kinda stuck here, with me, for the unforeseeable future, so you're going to stay here and do as I say because you have no other choice. That means that when I say we leave Howard Stark out of it, we're leaving Howard Stark out of it.

"Now, if you don't mind, Rogers, I have a working time machine to build. While I do that, why don't you…" he trailed off, waving his hand and looking around the room before his eyes caught on one of the crappy laptops the school provided for him before he made his own. Seriously, the thing was a piece of work. It had taken longer to run than it took for the light from V762 Cas to reach Earth, and it was supposedly the best on the market. Honestly, if his father would just listen, S.I. could easily get into and dominate the tech game. All Tony needed, was access to the R&D department and board meetings… but that was a thought for another time. "You," Tony began again, walking over to the piece of junk and shoving it into Roger's smooth hands, "can play with this while I'm working. Just press the button to turn it on, move the arrow in the screen with this, and double click on the letter 'e' on the screen for a truly amazing day. Just be careful not to spoil any cosmic plans for yourself, alright? Spoilers are the worst." And then he was physically shoving Rogers out because that man needed to get out, like, yesterday.

"Stark," Rogers glowered at him, beginning to fight now that the disorienting ramble of Tony's words wore off.

"Bye!" he cheered, pushing Rogers the last of the way out the door and locking it behind the older man. If he were being honest with himself at this point, he didn't really care if the man looked up his own future and tried to stop it. Good thing he was rarely honest with himself.

As Tony walked back to the table, he could hear the outside churning, and lightning lit up his lab like a gunshot. He rubbed his wet palms against oil stained jeans, ignoring the way they twitched.

Thunder rolled through the sky like cars headed for an unstoppable collision, and Tony closed his eyes. _Suck it up,_ the vicious voice in his head hollered. _Stark men aren't scared of stupid things. Get ahold of yourself!_

The storm was upon them.

Tony had work to do.

* * *

As much as Tony wanted to stay in his lab all day, he knew it was getting late, and, well, he'd maybe left Rogers alone with unobstructed access to a wealth of knowledge, which, could, y'know, space-time-continue-to-fuck-them-over, for a tad too long. He just… His lab was his. It was his and his alone. The only thing, really, that solely _belonged_ to him, which may sound rich coming from, well, a rich kid, but people did tend to assume, and Tony had never been one to let them look behind closed doors. He'd learned his lesson on that early on.

But it was true. This lab, it was… it was the first place he built from scratch by himself with no outside hands or prying eyes or unwelcome remarks. It's the first place he came to when Howard made sneered and snarled remarks on his idea of Dum-E. It's the first place he came when Rhodey and he had their first fight. It's the first place he came when he found out Pepper liked Rhodey and not him – which, fine, now makes sense, but he had been smitten with the older woman. It's the first place he came when he and Rhodey had their second fight – and yes, he still thought it had been a dick move for his best friend to go after Pepper after he so clearly saw that Tony, despite the impossibility of the relationship, had liked her so much. It was the place he'd slept in on more than one occasion. It was the place that was cluttered and exploding with Tony and life and everything that he was and wanted to be. He would put his life on the line before letting anyone take this away from him, space-time-continuum be damned.

He blinked, looking at J.A.R.V.I.S. and Dum-E before finally settling on the beginnings of what was somehow going to be a time machine.

"J," Tony began, "You think you could order an electronic keypad and some wiring that'll be compatible with both your server and the keypad's servers?"

"Of course, sir. Would you like to pick this up in store or have it delivered here?"

Tony's eyes twitched around the room once again. The hardware store was five miles away, and he still couldn't drive because that seemed like useless knowledge to have at the moment. "I'll pick it up. Have them have it ready by tomorrow, right when they open. I want it A.S.A.P., J. Tomorrow is already days too late."

"Your order and message have been sent. I'm sure the employees will more than appreciate your expensive taste in quality, quantity, and rush," J.A.R.V.I.S. deadpanned.

Tony gave the computer a wide smile, even if J.A.R.V.I.S. couldn't see (yet). "I do try, J. I do try. I'm a philanthropist, remember?"

"Among other things, I'm sure."

Standing up and stretching out, Tony let out a quiet chuckle. "Lock up behind me. I'm off to deal with McFly."

It wasn't difficult, finding Rogers. Mostly because he was sitting right outside Tony's lab at one of the tables that had been haphazardly placed throughout the hallway staring intently at the screen. His expression already read of shocked distaste, and Tony was already not wanting to deal with it. Whatever it was that Rogers was looking at displeased him.

"Did you find porn? Eventually, everyone finds porn," Tony said by way of announcement.

Rogers' head snapped up, and, was that? Yup, that was a look of someone who was definitely more than simply a little displeased. Tony was impressed because Rogers was managing to look at him with a fury that could almost outweigh Howard's. Almost.

"You're not breaking the space-time continuum, are you? Because I gave you one rule, and I'd be extremely broken-hearted if you couldn't manage to follow one rule," Tony continued, looking at his nails instead of Rogers' tomato red face.

"I'm not looking into the past, but-"

Tony's eyes snapped to the larger man's instantly, voice growing cold and serious. "There are no 'if's, and's, or but's,' with this, Rogers. I swear. I don't care what's going through that head of yours, but I can promise you that the outcome will not end well. And I don't make promises. Saving a few people in the past will hurt more people overall than it will help them. You'd be running the possibility of completely wiping out entire generations, and I may not be a gambling man, but I'm damn good at it, and I wouldn't go anywhere near those odds."

"Or I could save people," Rogers responded, and shit if he couldn't get frostbite from the cut in that tone.

Tony threw his hands up. "Are you serious right now? I asked you to do one goddamn thing-"

"I didn't look into the past!"

"One, Steve-o – can I call you that, by the way? Great. I asked you to do one thing, and you can't even do that. I don't care. I'm sorry, but you need to understand the damage you could cause trying to alter past events. It's called the butterfly effect, which is basically saying that killing one seemingly random, seemingly insignificant creature can alter the chain events in the future drastically, and you're looking to kill more than a simple bug. You may think you're helping, but I swear, I _swear_ you'll end up hurting everyone and everything you know."

"You mean everyone and everything you know," Rogers countered.

"What's your point? It's not like I'm being completely selfish, here. There are other children and families to think about and consider, and an entire world and universe to take into account." Rogers snorted, and Tony glared. "What?" he snapped.

"Well," Rogers began, drawing out the word slightly, looking as if it were leaving a rotten taste in his mouth before turning back to the computer. "How can I be sure you're telling the truth? How can I trust you?"

"I don't recall giving you much reason not to," Tony said, raising his brow.

Rogers turned the computer towards him: "How can I trust a person who's turned his own father against him?"

Tony paled when he saw the paused video on the screen, gulping. That definitely hadn't been in the cards he'd bargained on. Must've switched the deck. "You looked me up?" he asked hoarsely.

"I didn't have a lot of choices. I don't exactly know how to work these things; I can't really look into anything else per your request. I figured I'd better look into whose hands I was putting my life into. Can't say I'm impressed," Rogers told him coolly.

Tony opened his mouth, looking to the door where a storm raged, growing more and more volatile by the second. Nothing came out.

"I understand that the press isn't always kind and to take what they say with a grain of salt, but some of these interviews with Howard Stark, who now seems to be quite a powerful and respected man, seem to state similar things to the press. And if they ever misquoted him, I'm sure a man of his stature could easily call for a misprint. There are also videos," which was said in a fairly breathless manner, but Tony couldn't force his eyes to swerve towards the awe. Even now, while Rogers laid him bare, he could find amazement and joy in this foreign world. "Videos!" he continued. "Interviews of your father, live on television… well. Once live. But he's there, and you know what he says?"

Tony knew. He'd seen them. He'd read the articles. Every. Single. One. He couldn't help it, though. As much as he hated himself for doing it. For some reason, he couldn't help it.

 _Oh well,_ he thought with a bitter laugh. It was nothing that hadn't been said to his face.

"I know," Tony croaked out, and his face immediately flushed at how upset his voice sounded to even his ears. "I don't care," he whispered, closing his eyes. And then they snapped open, hard and familiar. Shaking himself, Tony crossed his arms, schooling his expression, and glared up at Steve Rogers, Captain America, waiting for him to be finished with his little temper tantrum.

"At your age, Howard Stark was a stand-up fella, but here you are making it to every front page of every gossip magazine across America. Your own father is threatening to disown you interview after interview.

"If you're really such a genius, why aren't you getting your act together and working harder like he's pleading with you to do? Why aren't you doing better?"

"Let me tell you one thing," Tony said in that quiet way that speaks volumes. "Howard Stark doesn't plead."

"And you only do things for you," Steve snapped. "Sometimes even bad people do good things by happenstance."

"And good people do bad things by happenstance, asshole," Tony said, turning on his foot and heading straight into the storm outside. Lightning flashed across the sky like a cobra striking. Thunder exploded like an atomic bomb. Wind corroded the windows at the speed of light. But even the storm was better than this.

* * *

 **Notes:**

A big thanks to everyone who's reading; I hope ya'll are enjoying the story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

As always, a major, major thank you to my beta reader, Cray Queen of Angst. It's always a pleasure, my dude.

Next update will be Sunday, 13 January 2019! I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and a happy pappy New Year! :D


	4. The Terrible Tony

_Chapter Four: The Terrible Tony's_

He was done. Steve was just… so done.

With an alarmingly growing rapidity, Tony Stark was going from an annoying thorn in the side to fatal wound levels of pest.

It first started with Steve waking to see Stark's roommate, a man by the name of James Rhodes, hovering above him with a smirk that was making a poor attempt at concealing itself into sympathetic annoyance. Steve had blinked, confused as to why he was the subject of the man's study, but needn't go further than that. As soon as his eyelashes once again met his cheeks, he could feel the stickiness, and when they opened to re-greet the sunny morning – the soft, humble kind that usually followed harsh storms by way of apology – he could see clumps of white clinging to them.

He'd sat up in a quick motion that had Rhodes backing away. As Steve came to an upright position, the top half of a piece of paper fluttered into the upper corners of his vision, as if to kiss it softly. It was while he was reaching to grasp at the paper that was somehow stuck to his forehead that he saw the white mess on his hands.

Steve wanted to scream.

Tearing the note from his forehead, he saw a messy scrawl that read: _Dum-E sends his regards but not his regrets._

And it had only gotten worse.

A few mornings after found Steve's hand floating in a bowl of lukewarm water and a wet bed.

Rhodes, thankfully, seemed far less amused by this stunt and kindly helped an embarrassed and bumbling Steve clean up the mess.

Which was what had led them here.

First and foremost, Steve would like to argue that having one's stomach stepped on by way of morning greeting was not a fun experience, nor was it a good way to be pulled from the peaceful embrace of slumber. To have the reaction of the stepper to the step-ee be a, "Sorry," accompanied by a gleeful tone and exhilarated smile was just icing on the cake.

Heat rushed up his body like a raging forest fire, and Steve wanted to yell. Hell, what he really wanted to do was throttle the spoilt, rich brat, but said spoilt, rich brat put his finger to his lips and nodded towards one sleeping James Rhodes. And there, just like that, Steve was stuck. Either he throttled the kid and Rhodes would fight tooth and nail to protect the boy – he'd seen that same fierce loyalty in Bucky's eyes on more than one occasion to know that this man would go to the end of the line for Tony Stark – or he'd yell and wake Rhodes up only to have the man be angry with both of them. It seemed that no matter which way he turned, Steve would end up with the short end of the stick. So, for the first time in his life, Steve didn't take the bait, no matter how beautiful the fight may have seemed.

After that, the kid simply slipped out, leaving Steve to glare after him. With a fairly vocal sigh through his nose, he fell back onto the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling, sleep alluding him now that he was awake, and his thoughts could bombard him. Reaching up, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, letting out a soft, low groan.

The future was a marvel. A terrifying, turn you to stone if you look directly at it kind of marvel, but a marvel nonetheless. Steve felt a lot like an ostrich, trying to survive by pounding his head through the ground and hoping that would somehow save him. Besides the computer, he'd made it a rule to stay away from anything to science fiction-y. He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his sanity otherwise.

The kid's workshop… That had been something, and he hated how keen he was to go back in and get a better look at it. With much less foam this time, though.

It just, even from the briefest of glances, seemed like Tony Stark was living even farther in the future than Steve was. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

As usual, Steve eventually got up, dressed, and wandered into the empty hallway outside of the lab to find the computer the kid had given him sitting in front of the closed door. Picking it up, Steve once again found himself looking at the high tech lock on the door. It was a black square just below the muted steel door handle that had a red light glaring at him. The last time he saw Stark walk out of his lab, the red dot turned into three green dots for the briefest of moments before the door closed, and it went back to its original state.

Steve sighed, carrying the computer back to his usual table and opened it up. Tapping his fingers, he stared blankly out the window wishing he had a book or some art supplies. While having the computer was entertaining to a degree, it was still limiting and confusing and always took longer than he'd like to find something of interest that also didn't breach the kid's "No looking into the past" rule.

On more than one occasion, Steve had considered doing it anyway just to spite the boy, but as petty as the kid was being, Steve would never put at risk any life just to get back at someone. He was tempted. He'd almost done it, but he just couldn't.

When he looked back at the screen, Steve couldn't help but blink slowly and owlishly at what was staring up at him. Instead of the usual blue light and black text, everything was black and purple with white text. His heart rate elevated slightly, and he took a pre-puff of inhaler to beat the asthma he knew his new panic was going to cause.

Maybe he could fix this before the kid found out.

Steve moved his mouse to the "e" icon and was relieved when the usual Google page popped up. However, when he began typing his query, the keyboard went out. Whatever letter he typed was not the same letter that appeared into that search bar. His heart began hammering in his chest.

He broke it. He'd broken the futuristic, science fiction computer.

"Oh goodness," he muttered under his breath, hands coming up to grip golden strands tightly. Sweat began to bead on his brow, and his eyes scanned the screen quickly. Steve may not be sure how much one of these things cost, but it must've been close to a fortune.

"Something the matter?" came a voice from the direction of Stark's workshop.

Immediately, Steve looked up to see the kid firmly planted in the doorframe, hands crossed, hip resting against one side. He was looking down at Steve with a raised brow and a smirk fighting its way to his lips. The kid looked pleased. Smug, even.

"You!" Steve growled, pointing at the kid accusingly. "You did this?!"

The beginnings of a smile were immediately wiped from the boy's face. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Really?" Steve drawled, dragging the word slowly over his tongue.

"Really."

And it was all Steve could do to not walk up to Stark and punch him in the gut. With receding strength, he allowed himself to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly, close his eyes, and count to ten. Rhodes once mentioned that that's how he got himself through most of the kid's antics, but the guy actually liked Stark, so he had one up on Steve there.

"I just don't understand why you're being such a pain in the ass," Steve breathed, eyes still closed.

"Holy shit!" the kid exclaimed. "Someone call the press because Captain America over here just cursed!" He whistled.

Deep breaths. "You are acting like a child, Stark."

"I'm not the only one," the kid responded, sticking his tongue out for emphasis.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that you have your blinders on when it comes to yourself, Mr. Righteous. Acting so judgmental as if you're judge, jury, and executioner. Whatever gave you the right to play God?"

"I don't play God!" Steve snapped.

The kid snorted. "Actions speak louder than words," he sing-songed.

"And when have I ever acted self-righteously?"

"Oh, I dunno. I think it may have started when you acted like an ass, what, with the whole wanting to beat me up as soon as we met, and it went a little downhill after you basically said, to my _face_ , that I was a horrible human being."

"I never said that!"

" _Basically_ , Rogers. I said basically because no, you didn't say it. Not in so many words, but, let me tell you, you have a poker face my blind grandmother could read, so it wasn't so difficult getting from point A to point B."

"You act like I think you're the scum of the Earth; what makes you so worthy to jump to conclusions?" Steve countered.

" _You_ act like I'm the scum of the Earth. You can't even take a simple joke," the kid whined petulantly.

"Those weren't jokes. They were cruel!"

"They were jokes! _I_ , for one, thought they were hilarious."

Steve wanted to strangle him.

"And," Stark continued, "you think you're so innocent when it comes to being cruel, huh?"

"What? What are you- at least I don't kill people!" he threw out, struggling to talk through his building anger.

The kid stopped, blinking at him. His sparkling brown eyes dimmed as they widened then narrowed, features closing off. "What does that mean?" he asked slowly, cautiously.

"Weapons," Steve told him, eyeing the change in body language with suspicion. It was hard, like the first night Steve brought up his searches to the kid. It was like Stark was suddenly wearing armor, and when the word left Steve's lips, the last pieces clicked into place. "You make weapons that hurt people. That kill them."

"Me?"

It was a simple question said with no conviction, and suddenly, the anger drained out of Steve, and he was left with an empty curiosity. He couldn't shake the abrupt feeling that Tony Stark was like the _Mona Lisa_. There was something hidden behind that smirk of his that Steve just didn't have access to, and Steve did not like this onslaught of not understanding.

"You work a bit in the R&D department of your dad's company, no? One of the most devastating weapons built by Stark Industries, The Mockingbird, was designed and built by you. It was a… a high capacity drone," Steve said slowly, eyes looking up as he tried to remember the words from the article. "It was built to be able to carry up to five hundred pounds of supplies, and it carried just under that last December in bombs, dropping them over disaster areas already devastated by war. They had surrendered and were asking for outside aid."

As Steve told the story, Stark's body got stiffer, face turning white, Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat.

"Didn't you know?" Steve asked quietly.

"Of course I know!" the kid bit out. "You don't think I don't know exactly what my inventions are used for? What S.I. decides to do with them?"

"So you build these terrible machines and can somehow still sleep at night?"

"Not everything is as black and white as it seems," the kid snapped.

Steve stood up, no longer caring if he got kicked out of Stark's little dorm room. Not really even caring if the boy decided to stop working on the time machine once and for all. These innocent lives, the families and children hurting because of this kid, Steve couldn't just stand by. Screw the consequences to himself.

"You're murdering people for a profit!" Steve roared. "You're making money off of the loss of innocent lives. The lives of mothers and their children. How can you think it's okay, what you're doing?!"

"I don't run the damned company," Stark told him coldly.

"But yours is the name on every single one of these events. Every single one of the weapons that caused these events. I-I've read debates, Stark. Some stand behind what you're doing, but I've met guys like them. They're the type of guys who let the little man fight the battles they started. Who watch others suffer on the cold street from their windows inside a home with a fireplace.

"They aren't the men I'd want backing me," he finished.

"Are you done?" the kid asked in a bored tone, but his eyes were ablaze. "Because I have work to do." And without another word, he left Steve in the hallway staring after a back that was so small, but somehow seemed to carry the weight of the world.

* * *

It was a nice day. The sun was out, the sky was a vibrant shade of baby blue, and, every once in a while, a white puff of cloud lethargically meandered across the blue backdrop.

Steve sat quietly outside a simple café. The brick outside the building, which was huddled between a long strip of other buildings and storefronts, was painted an eye-catching tortilla brown. It had an awning above the black, home-style door, and another much larger one above the window that made up over half of the wall. The fabric had black and white stripes extending from the wall to the end of the awning, and just above the window awning, in matte black metallic letters was: "EYER CAFÉ."

The spot was absolutely lovely and currently found itself under the awe of one Steve Rogers. He had long ago sat himself at one of the small, round tables made up of what seemed to be black chain link with food, drink, and book in hand.

After their last exchange, which, to count, had been almost a week ago, Steve came to find a miniature mountain of cash piled on top of his designated table. It seemed the kid wanted Steve as far away as possible, so, leaving the computer broken, he provided to Steve cash and a map of the town. Steve also hadn't seen hide nor hair of the kid since their last encounter. Not even in the dorm.

A slight churning of guilt crawled up his stomach, as much as he tried to keep it at bay, but Rhodes hadn't even batted an eye. In fact, the man seemed to be showing up less and less to their shared dorm room as well. Steve suspected it had something to do with the perfume-y smell he sometimes awoke to or the slight bubbles of feminine laughter from the hallway before Rhodes came in. In either case, he didn't seem too concerned about his best friend's absence. But Steve still couldn't stop the slight clench in his gut every once in a while.

However, being able to explore the city was… amazing. It was absolutely breathtaking now that he got a chance to observe it up close and without the fear of being trapped here looming over his head. So far, he'd stayed pretty close to the school, not wanting to wander too far, but the freedom was nice.

The air here was cleaner than back in Boston. At least, it felt that way in its open brevity. He also had an inhaler to thank for that as well.

Cars that roamed the streets seemed sleeker and quieter with less black coming from their ends. The sidewalks and gutters seemed tidier, and the people more calm and casual.

Don't get him wrong. Steve loved Boston, and his homesickness was always a mere thought away, but he could appreciate the aesthetic. The appeal.

It was simple. Almost quaint.

Steve wasn't sure if he would have been able to survive the 2002 version of New York. The city was already crammed and crowded and loud; it would have been too much, and part of him was grateful to have ended up here.

So far, all the strangers in this town had been kind to him, pointing him in one direction or another. That's partly how he ended up here in a Maple wood chair sipping something called a cappuccino and reading yet another book. It was peaceful and quiescent, and he missed the loudness of his home and Bucky constantly talking his ear off and keeping him out of trouble. He missed getting into trouble if he were being honest with himself, which he always was. Whatever misconception that Stark kid had about him, he was wrong in his assumption.

Tony Stark always seemed to think that Steve had personally offended him and everyone he knew simply in Steve's single act of existing. Of course, Steve wasn't going to stand for that. Why did he have to sit around and act like the responsible one? Why did he have to check himself while the kid went wild with torturous immaturity? Even if he hadn't seen Tony Stark in over a week, it didn't mean the kid had forgotten to make his life a living hell.

Why, just the other day, he kept hearing hints of laughter as he walked around campus and through the streets of the town. It wasn't until the kind old man who owned the "Hand-Me-Down Books" bookstore had stopped Steve as he checked out and peeled a sign off his back that read, "Kick Me to Try and Knock the Stick in My Ass Loose," that he understood why. Mr. Mosby, the owner, had handed it back to him with a sympathetic smile as Steve stormed out.

To sum up, Steve was through with rolling over on his belly, which was why he was here, reading his second book on Computer Programming. He didn't need to be an expert in the subject to do what he wanted. Steve only needed just enough information because two could play at this game. If that kid thought he could one-up Steve because he deemed Steve too stupid to beat him, then he was about to be in for a big surprise. He may be light-years ahead of Steve, but Steve was counting on that underestimation to put the odds in his favor.

Finishing off his sandwich and coffee, Steve stood and, as he dusted himself off, was knocked over by someone barreling into him.

"Oh my God!" a girl gasped, hunching over and as her breathing came out in gasps, wild red hair pulled into a ponytail behind her barely sweating face. She pulled what looked like a wire out of one ear with one hand and held out the other to Steve. He took it, allowing himself to be helped up. "I'm so sorry," she continued.

"It's fine," Steve smiled, hands coming up in a placating gesture. "No harm done."

She smiled, putting the wire back in her ear, and Steve shifted from foot to foot as she eyed him in a way that made it seem like she was reading his every thought without the slightest of issues before nodding and continuing her run. He looked after her, blinking; he felt like he had missed something, but the moment was gone.

Steve bent down and picked up his dropped inhaler. He paused as he looked down at the object, humming to himself. Glancing behind him, Steve watched as the girl turned the corner and disappeared. It wasn't impossible, and it would give him something to do as he waited for the time machine to be built.

Gathering the last of his things and tossing his trash in the bin, Steve began making his way back towards MIT, a mental note to grab running shoes stuck to the forefront of his mind.

* * *

Three nights. It took three nights for Steve to finally set his plan into action. After figuring out how to fix the computer Stark had given him, he had used Google to conduct the last of his research. Now, all he needed was Tony Stark himself.

He wasn't sure if Stark had begun making it a habit to just sleep in his lab or if he simply waited Steve out at night. Maybe it was a mix of both, but Steve was ready for him this time.

When the dorm room's door opened at five in the morning, Steve felt himself go still, closing his eyes quickly. He listened to the patter of footsteps and rustling of clothes, and when he heard the bed dip and shallow breaths turn into deep ones, Steve knew it was time. A few more minutes to make sure, and then he was creeping to his backpack where the clay and glue lay.

It was difficult doing this in the dark and depending on another person to remain sleeping, but after the fifth try, Steve got the perfect fingerprint mold and began pouring the glue.

The walk to Stark's lab took longer than he first anticipated. With no one around campus, he had figured it would be much quicker than normal, but Steve had to be careful with the slowly drying glue. He figured it would do no harm to allow the glue to dry longer in the cool dawn air, so he allowed himself to a lethargic walk.

The night was beautiful. Unlike New York, he could actually see the stars twinkling brightly in the sky, and the moon was clear enough for him to make out dark spots on its surface. The emerald green grass around him swayed gently in the soft breeze that caressed the campus with floral hand. He took a deep, satisfying breath. Home never quite smelled like this. It never quite looked like this, either.

By the time he was standing in front of the kid's lab, morning was on his shoulder. A cool light filtered through the windows of the hallway as he lightly prodded the glue, hoping it was dry enough to work. He had a feeling he would only get one shot at this.

With slightly shaking hand, Steve pressed the fingerprint to the lock, breath held tight. His upper lip, despite the cool air, began to bead with sweat. He could feel the tightness curling from his stomach to the rest of his muscles, all tensing except for his still shaking hand. Forcing himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath, he stilled his fingertip just long enough for the lock to get a read. At the sound of a soft beeping, he opened his eyes to find the light blinking green at him, and he couldn't help the wide smile that broke across his face.

Before it could realize its mistake and lock Steve back out, he pushed his way in and… stopped. The first time in this lab had been… an unforgettable experience, to say the least, what with the foam and robot and one Tony Stark screeching at him. It had been a little distracting at the time, and his abstracted view had not done the lab justice. It was a mess. Piles upon piles of, well, _things_ were strewn about, but not in the way that made them seem like a toy a child lost interest in. This looked like Tony Stark had received each item in here with love and care, studying it until it burned from his genius, and it had no choice but to go. And even gone, they held relic in the kid's heart in their placement as trophies and unforgotten lore.

It was amazing, and Steve immediately itched for a piece of paper and a pencil to capture this place for what it was. This was not the dorm; this was Tony Stark's home. It was… it was his own mind, Steve realized.

His fingers tightened around the fingerprint mold to reaffirm his possession of it before he set it in his pocket with the utmost care.

From the inside, maneuvering the door was easy. Propping it open, Steve took a small, plastic cup from his other pant pocket and ran down the hall to the water fountain. Cup filled, he scurried back to the lab. Carefully, he placed the cup atop the door and took a step back. Smiling to himself, he walked over to the desk where Stark's computer waited, and hopped on, sitting back and waiting.

It didn't take long for the kid to show up. Steve was glad he acted as quickly as he did because it wasn't a few minutes later that Stark was pushing open his lab door and squeaking as the water hit him.

Slightly soaked, the boy stood in the doorway, chest heaving as he frantically looked around the lab until his eyes settled on Steve who could only smile widely in return. The kid's brows furrowed, and he blinked a few times as he stared at Steve. He turned, switching on the lights and then turning back with wide eyes.

"How…?" he asked breathlessly.

Steve hopped off the table, walking slowly closer to Stark. "Well, it wasn't _that_ hard."

"You broke into my lab," he mumbled, voice sounding a little faint.

"Yup," Steve answered, popping the "P."

"How?" And Steve was fairly surprised to find that the kid sounded more curious than upset.

Steve shrugged. "Simple. I made a mold of your fingerprint and used it to trick the lock into letting me in."

"You're from 1942," Stark said as if that dismantled Steve's whole argument.

Steve snorted. "That doesn't make me stupid."

And, to his utter shock, Tony Stark burst out into a pearl of full bellied laughter. It was an intoxicating sound, Steve mused as he watched the kid's cheeks press his eyes closed from the grin splitting his face. He was a beautiful sight, and, once again, Steve's fingers itched for a pencil and pad.

"No," Stark got out between giggles. "No, it doesn't."

* * *

 **Notes:**

And that's a wrap! Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter.

As always a special thank you to Cray Queen of Angst for betaing this story.

The next update shall be Thursday, 24 January 2019! :D


	5. The Lost and Found

_Chapter Five: The Lost and Found_

Steve Rogers was the bane of his existence. Besides the fact that he was exactly the way Howard had described him – except maybe a tad angrier and a little rasher, which could simply be chalked up to the pre-serum-ness of it all – Rogers was somehow an expert on getting under Tony's skin. The guy had to have taken a class; he was too good. It was like tormenting Tony was his niche. Without even trying, the man could somehow spot every chink in the armor from a mile away. He could press every little button without wasting the time to search for them.

It was absolutely infuriating.

The man was the epitome of goodness and help-your-grandmother-across-the-street-ness. Not that Tony had ever actually seen him do that, but it was a _thing_. Who knew what the man got up to in his spare time? After he had given Rogers a pile of cash, the man flew out of the cuckoo's nest faster than Tony could solve a ninth-grade algebra problem, which was _fast_. It seemed that, over the weeks, the only times he saw hide or hair of the man was in hints and reminders, most of them coming in the form of little surprises that awaited him in his workshop. And not the good kind.

First had been the water on the door – which was too old school for Tony's particular taste – then he began finding his things in Jell-O – even Tony could admit a cleverness to that one – another time Rogers replaced Dum-E's fire extinguisher with a blow horn – Tony had nearly shit himself right then and there – and one of the last times, the man had gone too far. It was still difficult for him to talk about.

Innocently, Tony found himself heading to his lab where, oh, what a nice surprise! A cup of coffee had been expertly placed in front of his lab door with a snarky sticky note from Rhodey. Or so he'd thought. It wasn't until after a mouthful of soy sauce that Tony realized his mistake.

To mess with a man's coffee… That _had_ to be some sort of crime. A crime punishable by death.

And he may have retaliated by taking a zip tie to Rogers' new running shoes, but still... Coffee.

Besides the weeks of back and forth pranks, though, he hadn't really seen, much less spoke to Rogers. It was a little upsetting. Here he was putting all this work into not only a time machine, but amazing pranks, and Rogers couldn't even be grateful enough to get all loud and red at Tony for a single one of them? It was outright offensive. The man still had access to Tony's lab, for God's sake. He could come in with ruffled feathers at any time, yet he seemed to be off doing God knows what – definitely not paying the least bit of attention to Tony – and it was infuriating! Every time Tony tried to up the ante with said pranks, he only got a simple retaliatory one waiting in his lab and… that was it. No lectures. No bulging veins. Nothing.

The lab was starting to get quiet again.

Jiggling his thigh, Tony looked towards the window, sun shining brightly in the mid-morning haze. Het let out an audible sigh and then another. He blew air through his lips, making that horse noise. He groaned. He grunted. He yawned. He sighed.

Only two minutes had passed.

"J," Tony whined, "J, save me. I'm bored. I need you to give me something to do."

"Sir, you have yet to work on the time machine today. I suggest you focus on that," J.A.R.V.I.S. intoned.

Tony whined again. "You're no fun, J. I'm bored. The time machine is boring. Math is boring. I don't want to do math right now."

"That would be a first, Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. pointed out, and Tony paused. Yes, he guessed that would be a first.

Shaking his head, Tony grabbed the sides of the laptop monitor as if holding a person's head between his palms. "J, honey bun, sweetheart, love, that is very much besides the point and definitely not what we should be talking about right now. What we need to talk about is Rogers and how to get his mattress into the ocean without him waking up."

"I don't think reenacting _Parent Trap_ is a wise or safe thing to do."

"I have to disagree."

"Sir-"

"Where is Rogers, by the way?" Tony interrupted, looking around the room as if he'd find him hiding beneath a pile of scraps.

"As shocking as this may sound, it is not my job to keep track of Captain Rogers. It is also currently outside my parameters and capabilities."

"That's a lie, J, and you know it. Dropping hints for upgrades is rude. Maybe for Christmas," Tony chirped, but the comment had less bite than usual.

"I have not seen Captain Rogers in the lab since three days ago when he placed the whoopee cushion on your chair."

Tony let out an involuntary giggle before cutting it off with a cough. "Such a childish thing. I expected more from him."

"Sir-" J.A.R.V.I.S. began, sounding far too exasperated for a machine.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony waved him off. "I get it. Time machine."

After a few more minutes of pointless noises, spinning in his chair, and getting up to aimlessly wander around the room, Tony forced himself to concentrate on the impossible project in front of him. It didn't take long for the numbers to wash over him in his favorite form of meditation. By the time J.A.R.V.I.S. pulled him out to give his tell-tale "Time to Pack Up Shop" warning, evening had descended upon them.

Locking up the lab, Tony glanced around the hall to see if Rogers had bothered to wait outside for him. It was becoming a sort of once in a blue moon type thing for him to do as such, but every once in a while, he'd be waiting. This was not such a night.

Tony set off towards the bundle of stores nestled just outside the campus, trying to recall when he last ate. The idea of food, his bed, and an episode of _Family Guy_ sounded orgasmic right now.

He was halfway through his episode and two bean and cheese burritos into his meal from Taco Bell when he realized Rogers was nowhere in sight. Not only had Tony taken his time getting food, but he'd also bathed in the lap of luxury by taking a steaming hot shower with aromatherapy soaps for a _very_ long time, changed his sheets to flannels and put a new down comforter on top, and stole one of Rhodey's hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants (both of which hung loosely and precariously around Tony's slim frame, but that was simply because Rhodey was fat and not at all because Tony was short and small. He was, at least, average in size, thank you very much) before curling into his blanket cocoon with food and putting on his show.

Glancing at the clock, he blinked. It was late. Just passed midnight. It was late and Rogers had yet to come into the dorm room and demand the small television set be turned off so he could get his much needed beauty sleep, which also hadn't really happened. Yet.

Tony disentangled himself from the covers and opened the door, scanning up and down the hallway. No sign of the man. He even stopped someone walking by to ask if they had seen, "A blonde asshole whose head is a little too big for his body because the rest of him just couldn't quite get there. Blue eyes that make you want to literally kill yourself by drowning in them because he has a bad habit of yelling at you while looking like a tomato." Amazingly, it hadn't worked. The guy claimed to never have seen such a man in his life.

Tony slunk back into the room, sitting on the bed and grumbling to himself as he shoved slippers onto his feet and stole another hoodie from Rhodey. He liked how they smelled, like soap instead of oil. It was nice.

Making his way outside, he squinted into the wind, air chilled now that night had fully fallen. With nothing to go on, Tony began to walk, not even sure, himself, what he was doing. He had no place to start and no way to figure that out. In fact, he had no idea why he was even bothering with this. For all he knew, Rogers was finally getting the stick out of his ass and partying it up. There was a slew of invites just posted on the cafeteria corkboard for summer party after summer party during the school's intercession.

With a sigh, Tony placed the Bluetooth into his ear, tapping it awake. "Hey, J? Do you happen to have any ideas as to where Rogers might be? I'm hereby granting you permission to include this into your parameters."

"Of course, Sir. I have just taken the liberty of hacking into some of the street and security cameras posted around town. It seems Captain Rogers is currently in the park next to the beach. You may already be more familiar with the area as it is the same park you first found Captain Rogers in; more specifically, it is the park close to the diner Shake House."

"Right, thanks," Tony drolled, shaking his head and beginning his walk towards the restaurant. He remembered that place; he remembered any place that served him hot fudge chocolate shakes with cookie dough. The last time he'd indulged himself that much he'd just finished and passed his final exams. It had, without a doubt, been way too long since Tony had last had his favorite dessert.

"What's he doing all the way over there?" he asked J.A.R.V.I.S., sounding exasperated.

"I believe Captain Rogers was going for a jog and got lost."

Tony grumbled. "At least he didn't wander too far off the beaten path. We don't need another _Homeward Bound_ incident on our hands."

J.A.R.V.I.S. remained silent, which was probably for the best.

The walk, in slippers no less, took Tony about an hour. He reached the athletics field of the park close to two in the morning, hugging himself tightly. Scanning the area around him, he swallowed the extra saliva that had begun to pool in his throat. A shiver ran down his spine, one that may not have exactly been caused by the cool air. There was very little light spread across the smooth, grassy fields, and Tony pursed his lips. Yep, there was no doubt in his mind. A killer clown lurked in here somewhere.

"J?" he whispered, keeping his voice low and steady. "Is anyone around? Is Steve still here?"

"By my calculations, Sir, he's made his way farther into the park. I believe he was following a small group of men."

"Great," he murmured, shifting from foot to foot as wide eyes continued to screen the darkened area. "There doesn't happen to be a security camera close to where they are now, would there?"

"I'm afraid not. I can only guess as to their current whereabouts."

Tony let out a quiet huff of air. He figured as much; he'd never exactly been lucky.

Looking back behind him, he seriously considered bolting, tapping on his elbow as he hugged his arms around himself. The muscles in his body remained taut; tightened and ready for fight or flight.

"Okay, alright," he muttered, looking forward and stepping onto the grass. "Keep your, er, uh, ears peeled, J."

Haltingly, Tony wandered into the park, looking around the darkness embedded area. Every so often, a streetlight pounded a circle of light into a pathway but remained unsuccessful in passing that light throughout the rest of the park. There was only moonlight to aid Tony's vision; a vision that continued to see shadowy movements dancing and waiting for him in the darkness. The worst part was, he didn't know if the shadows were real or not.

As he delved deeper into the shadows, he kept his ears open, hoping to pick up the sound of Steve soon. Very soon.

A few minutes later, J.A.R.V.I.S. was speaking into his ears again. "Sir, I'm picking up sounds of distress from the far, northeast end of the park."

He changed his route.

The scene that greeted him was almost ferocious. A circle of three burly men surrounded Steve, who seemed to be doing his very best to stay on two feet, everything else was a miracle for him at that point. The middle of the circle was a blur of fists and feet. And, from here, it looked like most of Rogers' skin was either covered in blood or growing bruises. There was some satisfaction shooting through Tony's mind when he saw that the three men were not scratch free, even if their injuries were more on the minor side. At least Rogers had been able to get a few good hits in from the looks of it.

"Hey!" Tony yelled, stepping forward just enough to be seen – more importantly, for his phone to be seen. He held out the object, doing his best to keep the shaking from his hand and voice. "If you don't get out of here, I'm calling the cops!" He pulled his phone back, dialing 911, finger hovering just beyond the call button. Eyes coming back up, he did his best to look threatening as if daring them not to listen to him.

There was a chorus of curse words and stumbling as the men eased their fighting and slowly backed up before bolting away. He watched cautiously as the figures disappeared, his phone screen still glaring the numbers up at him. Quickly scurrying over to Steve, Tony ordered J.A.R.V.I.S. to listen for any voices and/or footsteps coming their way, and if he heard any, to immediately call the police.

"Jesus Christ!" Tony exclaimed when he reached the older man, kneeling down next to Rogers now bent figure. "Rogers, Steve, hey! You okay? Talk to me!"

"'M fine," Steve breathed, lip split, swollen, and bloodied. Tony took another moment to look Steve over, eyes scanning his bared skin the best he could. There was a cut on Steve's nose leading to two darkening eyes. His nose was leaking a bit of blood as well, and Rogers' arm came up to swipe it away. His hands were scratched and bloodied as well, mostly concentrated on the areas of the knuckles, and a few bruises were littering up to his elbow, growing in size and aggression. His knees were in the same scratched state as his knuckles, a few bruises scattering the pale skin of his legs, but mainly concentrated along his shins.

Luckily, first glance gave an impression of bad that it wasn't actually able to achieve. Nothing was bent at an odd angle or dangling precariously from a socket.

The only knowing worry Tony currently had was internal bleeding in the intestinal and stomach areas. There was no way for him to check that.

"You sure don't look fine," Tony said voice rising in pitch slightly, "Can you walk? What were you doing here? Why were you fighting three giants? You're not David. Do we need to go to the hospital?"

"Slow down," Steve ground out, voice hoarse as he rolled himself onto the ground and onto his back. Tony watched as the man just lay there, taking in one steady breath after the other, eyes closed tightly.

 _He must be in a lot of pain_ , Tony thought, a trickle of sympathy marking its path towards his chest.

"Can you walk?" he asked in a subdued tone after a moment, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Yeah," Rogers sighed, breath slowing and voice getting just a bit stronger. "Yeah. Just- just gimme a minute, here."

Tony nodded again, hands hovering over Steve's skin, unsure of what to do. Tony was shaking now. It couldn't be helped at this point; the small amount of adrenaline his body pumped into him when he yelled was long gone.

A few minutes passed in silence as he waited for Rogers to be ready, jumping at every little sound, hearing things that may not even be there. God, he wanted to get out of here, a thought he voiced in a little less dramatic a fashion.

"I don't want them coming back, and I don't know who else might be out here," he added on.

"I can handle myself," Steve insisted in a grunt, but he began to sit up, pushing himself to his feet.

Tony snorted lightly. "Yeah. Sure you can. I noticed it when those guys were two punches away, if not less, from knocking you out and harvesting your organs. C'mon, get real, Rogers." Steve sent him a glare and opened his mouth, but Tony stopped the rebuttal with a shake of his head. "Steve, in all seriousness, they were probably gonna end up killing you," he pushed softly, looking around one last time before gripping the larger man's hand and dragging him forward as quickly as Rogers' battered body would allow. "There's no shame in admitting you can't win every single fight in existence."

Tony saw Steve roll his eyes. "Says the kid who keeps tormenting me prank after prank," but his voice was fairly light, and Tony took the change of subject with ease.

He shot Rogers a smile: "I don't have to admit anything; I'm already winning that fight."

"I'm pretty sure I won when I got into the super-secret, 'top security,'" Steve air quoted with his free hand, "lab with only my 1942 knowledge at my aid."

Inhaling, Tony let out a gasp. "Who taught you air quotes?!" he squawked. "And you're a lying liar, there, Rogers. You got help from modern books and the internet. Lying is a sin, y'know. You had the _Bible_ in your time, right?"

Rogers spluttered. "I'm from the '40s, not the fourth century." There was a chuckle in there, though, and Tony felt warmth curl into his belly, chest tightening _just_ enough for his heart to hammer against his ribs.

"Wanna get ice cream?" he burst out. Rogers looked at him incredulously as Tony continued to tug on his hand. "You're gonna wanna put ice on that," he barreled on. "And what better ice is there than ice _cream_? Plus, I was planning on getting ice cream anyway. I wasn't going to walk all the way out here and not get some ice cream."

Steve was silent for a moment. "You came looking for me?" he asked. "Why?"

Immediately, Tony shook his head, letting go of Rogers' warm palm, feeling the cool air wrap mercilessly around his empty hand like ghostly tendrils. "No. Nope. I was looking for ice cream, and then J.A.R.V.I.S. pointed out that you were gone longer than was normal, and happened to have seen you in the park. I came out for the ice cream. Well, a shake. I want a hot fudge shake. With cookie dough bits in it. I mean, who wouldn't want a hot fudge shake with cookie dough?"

"You walked almost two and a half miles, in slippers," Rogers emphasized, "to get a chocolate shake?"

"Excuse you, a hot fudge shake, _with cookie dough_. Are you saying you wouldn't walk two and a half miles for a hot fudge shake with cookie dough?"

"No," Steve deadpanned.

"I mean," Tony continued, practically jumping onto the crowded, well-lit sidewalk. "You can go back to the dorm. I'm gonna get ice cream."

The rest of the walk was made in silence, but Steve still followed him as Tony led them towards a bright 24-hour diner. They did pretty well ignoring the looks from passersby and the other customers in the restaurant. When Tony sat them down at the counter and they got their drinks, he dipped a napkin in his water and passed it to Rogers.

"You may want to clean up your…" Tony gestured his face, and Steve followed suit, dabbing the napkin wherever Tony pointed until Tony began pointing to increasingly ludicrous places. Rogers tossed the used napkin at Tony's face, chuckling lightly. Tony smiled. There, much better.

Their waitress seemed to opt for not even acknowledging that one of her customers was blatantly a part of Fight Club. She swiftly took their orders and marched off, leaving the two to their own devices.

"So," Tony said as soon as he could no longer take the silence, which hadn't taken long at all. "Why are you starting fights in the middle of the night at the park?"

Steve sighed, shaking his head and frowning. "I didn't start it," he defended indignantly.

"You didn't stop it, either," Tony pointed out.

"What was I supposed to do?" Rogers snapped. "I got lost; I didn't want to bring my map on my run with me, and I wanted to see if I could go longer than a mile. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going or how long I was going."

"You just started running, and you're already pushing yourself passed your limits?" Tony groaned.

"You don't get it. I couldn't run at all back home. Now I can, so I'm gonna do my best while I have the opportunity. Then, when I get back, the army'll have to accept me."

Tony huffed out a breath. "I don't see how this led to you starting a friendship circle at two in the morning."

Steve shrugged, frowning. The movement caused him to flinch at the tug of his wounded lip. Tony smirked lightly. Served him right. "I just needed directions back," Rogers told him. "I hadn't realized how late it was, and I was enjoying wandering the area. Eventually, I figured I'd best get back, and they figured I made a good target."

"Why fight, though? You literally have running shoes and clothes on. Your flight instinct was more than screaming at you to listen. More like blatantly demanding."

Rogers paused as his plain vanilla cone – except for the chocolate shell Tony insisted on when he thought Steve hadn't been listening – appeared in front of him, thanking the woman as he took it from her hand. "They wanted a fight," he said eventually. "It was better they do that with me than with someone else."

"So you took on three large men on the off chance that they would find someone else to beat up?" Tony asked inquisitively, pausing just before his first sip of chocolate shake-y goodness.

Rogers was staring at his cone like it was going to bite him instead of the other way around, twisting it in his hand as if unsure of where to go from here. "Mug. Mug someone else. They were looking for money or something called an 'iPod' or whatever. It's not the best outcome, but I think I took up their time enough for them to not try and do that again tonight. Maybe they were taught enough of a lesson that they won't ever do it again."

"I think you're asking too much from the universe there," Tony told him, finally taking a large gulp of his drink. Just as amazing as he remembered.

"And why's that?" Steve asked eventually, taking a bite from the cone and munching on it.

"Because people don't change," Tony told him quietly, staring intently at his shake.

"Sure they do."

He gave Rogers a smirk. "Let me rephrase: bad people don't change. I mean, they don't change and become good people."

"I don't believe that. I think people can always get better, just like they can always get worse, and if we try hard enough, we can make the world – and the people in it – better."

Tony looked at Steve from the corner of his eye. "I believe that people can easily become corrupted. Maybe far too easily. I don't believe you can undo that corruption no matter how hard you try. It sounds like a pipe dream, is all I'm saying."

"Why can't people learn their lesson and become good?" Steve questioned.

Shrugging, Tony gave him a humorless smile. "Witnessed it one too many times."

"Maybe you should try giving people a chance; no offense, but your hands aren't exactly clean either," Rogers pointed out.

"Are you serious right now?" Tony admonished. "Really? We can't have a simple conversation without you making me into the enemy, now can you?"

"I wasn't saying-"

"Bullshit!" Tony cried. "It always comes back to that. Every single time. Anyone ever tell you that you're a real ass?"

Pushing the shake away – unfinished, for God's sake! – Tony stumbled out of the stool, shoving a wad of cash onto the counter without bothering to count it. The waitress that night would be more than grateful for the $1,000 tip she'd put towards her baby girl's college fund.

Almost drunkenly, he pushed himself out the door, forcing himself faster without looking as if he were literally running away. Tony refused to look back, fists clenched, jaw tight, and eyes absolutely not wet. At all.

"Stark!" he heard Rogers call, the chiming bell on the door alerting him that he was being followed. "Wait! I'm sorry; I shouldn't have-"

Tony stopped, twirling around. "No you're not!" he interrupted, arms gesturing around his head as if indicated an explosion. "Of course you're not, otherwise it wouldn't have been said in the first place. That's all you see and hear when I do anything, isn't it? Can't even have one goddam nice meal without you bringing it up. Not to mention I basically saved your life back there, and, oh, also, am currently BUILDING A TIME MACHINE FOR YOU!" He turned to walk away but stopped himself before he could, one hand each going to the opposite edge of his waist to hold in the last of his warmth. "You're never going to see anything but that, are you? And you claim to think that bad people can be good," he let out a self-deprecating laugh. "You're pathetic, Rogers. Petty and pathetic. Everyone deserves a chance, even the men who just mugged you, but I don't. Alright, fine. I get it."

"That's not-"

"Shove it, Rogers. I'm not buying it."

As he walked away, he heard Rogers call his name once more, but the man didn't bother coming after Tony again.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Alrighty-roo! Good to see that the boys are alright, although, Steve does have a bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth, no?

As always, thank you very much my lovely beta: Cray Queen of Angst, and the next chapter will be released 03 February 2019. We're almost at the halfway mark, folks! :D


	6. The Reckoning

_Chapter Six: The Reckoning_

Steve felt awful. He hadn't really meant to make the kid feel bad; the words just kinda slipped out of his mouth before his brain could fully catch up and stop them. And to give credit where credit was due, the kid really had been kind and helpful to him. So, as much as Steve would like to say otherwise, this fight fell almost solely on his shoulders.

It didn't help that Stark wouldn't let him apologize. As the next week passed, Steve did his best to catch Stark at some point in order to corner him and insist that he hadn't really meant to hurt his feelings… well, that wasn't quite true, but he did regret what he said, and he was doing his very best to make it up to Stark. He even put coffee outside his lab (real coffee this time).

Which, okay, maybe he wasn't trying his very best. He could see if the fingerprint mold still let him into the lab and corner the kid there, but… but Steve did not have the desire to find out whether or not it still worked. Or, rather, that it didn't work. For some reason, the thought of not being able to get into Stark's lab scared him from all the manners his ma had taught him. Her voice was currently echoing in his head right now telling him to try and get into that room to apologize to the poor boy who was helping him get home. _Now._

God he really was an ass.

Footsteps pulled Steve from his reverie, and he sat a little straighter in the chair outside Stark's door. He put the book he was holding down and watched as a large man in a black suit made his way towards him. As the man approached, footsteps pausing, Steve eyed him warily, instantly alert. He stopped just in front of the lab door and raised a meaty hand to knock.

It came as no surprise – to either of them, by the looks of it – when nothing happened. The man waited a few minutes before repeating the action, a firmer, more resounding sound this time echoing the hallway. If a knock could sound stern, that was it.

A muffled, "Go away!" came from inside the door. Steve's lips quirked just slightly.

Once again, the fist raised in an automatic, programmed reaction. The unchanging demeanor the man exuded gave Steve the heebie-jeebies. This time, it was a simple, quick rap on the door. The rap made by the knuckles that lasted less than a second, but stuck with you for twice as long.

That was the one that did the trick. Stark's head popped out of the doorway not a moment later. When he took in the large figure at his head, the kid slipped out, firmly shutting the door behind him. "Usher," he greeted coolly. "What a pleasant surprise." His eyes slid to Steve for a flash of a second but were back on the man named Usher before he could be too sure. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Mr. Stark, your father requests your attendance tonight at the company gala being hosted in the Massachusetts' house."

"He's in town?" the kid questioned, eyes scanning Usher almost disbelievingly.

"Yes sir. It is a very important gala, and your father insists you present yourself throughout the evening," Usher said in a deep, eerily monotone voice.

Stark shook his head. "I-" another shake of the head. He looked down at the floor and cut himself off with an empty laugh before his eyes came back up looking ablaze. "Well, you know what? Tell dear old dad that I send my love and regrets. No, wait, just say, 'Rain check.' He'll know what it means," he finished, patting the man on his meaty bicep.

The kid began to turn away, leading himself back into his lab when the next words stopped him in his tracks. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. That's not an option. Your father asked me to inform you that, if you refused, he will stop funding your school, dorm, and other expenses."

"What?!" Stark snapped, turning on his heal and pushing his face to glare up into Usher's. "He can't do that!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's the message he insists I pass along."

"That's- he can't- Usher, that's blackmail! He can't _do_ that," the kid babbled.

For the first time, the man slipped into human form, features melting and looking remotely apologetic. "I'm sorry. There's nothing more I can do about it."

Stark stood frozen, mouth agape. He looked shocked and horrified, and it was the first time Steve had ever seen him with nothing to say. The silence spoke volumes. The kid lethargically swallowed, sluggishly blinking scopic eyes back to normal; a twitch here and there reanimating his body. "Fine," he said, voice rough with a slight slur. "I'll be out in a minute. Just, uh, just let me grab my jacket."

Usher nodded, walking back down the corridor from whence he came. Stark watched him go until the black figure dispersed into the burning white light of the open door. As he once again added movement to his limbs, the kid clumsily made his way back into the lab, coming out with a frayed and worn leather jacket a few minutes later. He looked pale, a weariness around his eyes that a person of his age should not have.

"I, uh, need to go do a- a thing. You, stay here and be good." Stark murmured, the usual bite in his tone swallowed as he looked at Steve. Steve nodded, and the kid mirrored his action. "Good. Right. I'll be back by tonight. Not that you need to know that, but, yeah. Um, yeah," he rambled, turning on his heal, shoulders hunched in an all too familiar way until he, too, was overtaken by the sunlight, except his disappearance left a biting, icy chill in Steve's bones. Like watching a raven purged of its onyx wings.

Steve wasn't sure how long he stood there staring after Stark's faded silhouette, but by the time he thawed, he was positive the sun was a little higher in the sky, and his limbs felt sore and weak. There was a feeling that had sunk itself deep into the pit of his stomach, and he couldn't shake it. He slid back into his seat, but to no avail; his book remained on the same page, eyes on the same word, brain on the same intrusive thought.

Sighing, he finally gave in, setting the book down and lowering heavy head to his hands. Running his fingers through his hair, Steve pulled at his growing strands, thinking an off-hand remark on getting a haircut before ruffling them and pushing himself forcefully to his feet. Like a man on a mission, he walked up to the lab's door, shoulders back, chin up. Forcefully, he shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled out the fingerprint mold and held it firmly against the sensor. He held his breath.

Steve needn't have worried. Without a second thought, the scanner beeped green and opened, granting Steve the access he'd been pining for for days.

Pushing the door open, Steve stepped into the lab, looking around and wandering for signs of drastic change. He half expected some sort of barrier or robot barricade or a change of any kind that prevented him from coming in one way or another. Everything remained the same, though, softly snoozing in dimmed corners.

"Hello Mr. Rogers," a disembodied voice echoed around the room. He jumped, almost stumbling back out into the hallway until he caught himself on Dum-E's claw, the bot having apparently rolled over to him to give its greetings. "My apologies, Mr. Rogers. I didn't think before I spoke. Your particular reaction hadn't occurred to me."

Steve glanced wildly around the room, eyes scanning for someone or- or _something_ , but his eyes found nothing. "What are you?" he got out, heart still pounding rhythmically against his sternum.

"How rude of me," the voice told him, sounding slightly miffed. "My name is J.A.R.V.I.S. I am Mr. Stark's Artificial Intelligence, otherwise referred to as an A.I."

" _You're_ J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Steve questioned. "The one Stark talks about all the time?"

"Yes." The A.I. struck as being almost proud.

Nodding slowly, Steve closed his eyes and crouched down, massaging his temples with his fingers in a smooth, circular motion. Right. Disembodied, robotic voices. This was normal. This was okay. The future had this kind of stuff. Well, rather, Tony Stark had this kind of stuff. At least the rest of the future appeared manageable. It was robot free, at least. All he could picture was a world full of evil Maria's, which wouldn't exactly be great.

"Do you, uh, is there a problem with me being in here? Do you mind me staying?" Steve eventually asked, peering up at the ceiling.

"Sir does not have you on his: 'Do not allow inside under any circumstances, ever. Even if it's the end of the world. They'll just have to be okay with dying,' list." the A.I. informed him.

"Uh, great?" Steve said, torn between a bubble of amused laughter and slight horror. It was an increasingly common feeling to have in regards to Tony Stark.

As he made his way around the room, Dum-E followed him, offering objects to him here and there: a screwdriver, a glass of water with what was probably oil floating in it, the whoopee cushion he left in here long ago, amongst other things. Steve made sure to collect and hold on to all of the items for fear of upsetting the sweet robot. Except for the oil-water. Steve wasn't sure what, exactly, to do with that one, so he just set it on the table and gently patted the outstretched claw with a newly freed hand – having stuffed the other things in pockets and balancing the rest in one arm. That worked just as well, and Dum-E rolled away, beeping happily, already rummaging for more.

Eventually, Steve settled himself at the window where the sun was doing its best to brighten the dark room through the cheap, plastic blinds. He settled his modest amount of riches next to him on the countertop just when Dum-E once again came up to him, reaching a rolled up, blue sheet of paper out to him. Gently, he picked the paper from the robot's claw, and it unfurled easily under deft fingertips. He leaned against the wall, planting himself firmly on the countertop and pulled the blinds open.

It was confusing at first, trying to understand the detailed pictures and words on the paper, but one thing stood out, easily accessible to Steve's non-genius engineer mind: at the very top of the paper, shoved into the left-hand corner in all cap, bright white letters, were the words: "THE MOCKINGBIRD".

Automatically, Steve's muscles clenched; sitting straighter, a slight wrinkle formed on the paper as his grip tightened. Crossing his legs, he settled the blueprints against his thighs, hunching over to get a closer look. He may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn't stupid. He got the gist of what the schematics were.

"It was never supposed to be a weapon," he breathed.

The drone was much larger in these drawings. Bulky and obvious, something that had been changed when Stark Industries had produced and done a test run of the machine for the military. Its weight capacity was also much larger with bigger engines than what had eventually been produced. What the real shock was, though, was that these designs showed the drone carrying medical supplies, food, and water.

Steve cleared his throat, still intent on the paper in his lap. "J.A.R.V.I.S., can I ask you something about Stark?"

"Of course; however, I cannot guarantee a response."

He nodded. "Sounds fair. Do you have record of all of Stark's designs?"

"I do."

"And do you have a record of the final product and application of those designs?"

"The few that were accepted and made it to the final stages, yes," J.A.R.V.I.S. supplied.

"The majority of these designs. How different are they from start to finish?"

The A.I. was quiet for a moment. "Very."

"Did he- is he the one who made these into weapons? Does Stark actually design weapons?" Steve wondered, chest constricting slightly, stomach clenching into knots.

"Sir does design weapons, but those occasions tend to be few and far between, especially as time goes on. And, as with most projects Sir presents to his father, The Mockingbird was taken out of his hands. He had been able to work with the R&D staff on his designs in the past, but after The Mockingbird, Sir's father banned him."

Steve was silent, not quite sure what to say to that. In a rough and quiet voice, he said, "Can I ask what happened?"

"I'm sorry, but I believe it is best to ask Sir as he has the most complete recollection of the events as they transpired. I only have access to the files and histories modified into computer code as I was not yet here at that point in time."

"But… he didn't know it was going to be used as a weapon, did he?"

"No."

Steve was going to have another asthma attack.

Fuck. He was definitely an ass.

The lab was quiet. Calm. So he stayed, staring vaguely out the window for most of the afternoon, lost to his own consuming thoughts. Not many people surprised Steve; he liked to think that it was a difficult thing to do. Somehow, though, _somehow_ Tony Stark kept doing it. For reasons unknown to Steve, Tony Stark was building a time machine for him to help him get back home (he could see the sleek, resplendent beginnings of form if he looked from the corner of his eye). Stark gave Steve a place to sleep and put a roof over his head and gave him money for food and water and entertainment. He even came after Steve when he'd gotten lost on his run. Even now, Steve sat comfortably in a lab that no one else was allowed into; impassable with technology more advanced than anyone else currently on this Earth could dream of accomplishing. So Steve knew; he knew that if he was in here, it was only because Tony Stark was allowing him to be.

As the sun sunk lower into the sky staining it vibrantly violent strokes of pink and purple, he got up. Sliding off the counter, Steve grabbed the blueprint, rolling it up neatly and carefully, handling it as if it were the Mona Lisa. He should probably be heading back to the dorm.

Dum-E, who seemed to be much smarter than Tony gave him credit for, lead him to the small drawer that originally contained the blueprints. Pulling the drawer open farther than the misshapen crack the bot must've made, he placed the rolled up sheet back inside, eyes briefly scanning the other objects littering the bottom. Unsurprisingly, there were plenty more blueprints to be found, and he was sure if he inspected further, they would all contain similar projects to The Mockingbird. As he went to close the drawer, though, the barrels of papers shuffled around to reveal more colorful paper at the bottom.

Steve paused then reached in and pulled out a small booklet. It was colorful, and a spectacularly drawn human figure stood at the forefront, the silhouette of a woman and a man standing behind the person. The top, in white, bold letters, read, "Captain America" and underneath, in smaller red, cursive lettering: "Vol. 37."

Intrigued, he flipped through the pages to see similar drawings ranged throughout. It was a comic book. Glancing back into the drawer, he leafed through the blueprints and found two more Captain America comics, each a different volume. _The artist who worked on these was very talented,_ Steve found himself thinking as he began to read through the first one.

The idea of superheroes was a nice one, and Steve found himself smiling at some of the antics the characters got themselves up to. It left him reminiscing on him and Buck and some of their crazier adventures. He'd have to tell his friend, once he got back home, that Bucky had a shared name with a character in a famed superhero comic from the future. The man would love that.

Captain America himself was amazing. He was doing things Steve had always wished he could do, like fighting in the war and punching Nazis in the face and just being someone that people could look up to. Someone that was a role model. Steve could see why Tony would admire the nameless man. These comics were exciting and heart-wrenching, showing people exactly what a true hero should be.

Closing the comic, he ran his finger over Captain America's cowl covered face. Something about the man resonated with him; there was a strange pull tugging at his being.

Maybe one day he'd meet the man who inspired these comics. Maybe Steve would be similar to him in some way. Make some sort of difference in the world as well.

Carefully placing the comic books back inside the drawer, Steve finally made his way from the lab. The evening was cool, a slight breeze meandering about the campus. His stomach growled, so he absentmindedly began making his way to the little cluster of restaurants just outside the campus.

Steve had a plan. He was going to wait up for Tony, tempt him with food and the television show he enjoyed so much, and apologize. With all that, he may just get the guy to listen to him.

Here's the thing, he could admit when he was wrong. As many faults as he may have, at least he was always humble enough to own up to his wrong doings. After he apologized, maybe the two of them would even get along better. It'd make dealing with the future a little easier not constantly fighting with Tony Stark. Who knew? Maybe they could become something akin to friends.

Following the directions of the students around campus, they led him to a small, local joint where he found the greasiest, most obscene fast food he could hope for. Steve bought as much as he thought he was able to carry and as much as he thought Tony was willing to eat (which was a lot). His ma always said food was the way to a man's heart, and even if he couldn't cook to save his life, he figured Tony would enjoy this nonetheless.

Lugging the food back to the dorm was a bit of a difficulty and took more time than Steve cared to admit, but everything got back un-spilled and safe, including the chocolate shake. He placed the pile of grease soaked and stained brown paper bags onto the empty dresser and went to the small television set to try his hand at figuring out how to turn on that cartoon. Steve would never admit it to anyone, much less his host, but the show had its… decent moments that weren't completely appalling.

It was well past three in the morning by the time the door opened, and Tony stepped into the room. Squinting at the bright lights, he blinked his way over to Steve, raising a brow.

"You're awake," he stated, and Steve nodded, placing one of the burgers he'd gotten to the side. He felt a little bad about digging into the food before Tony came home, but, in his defense, he had gotten more than a little hungry. Tony's eyes scanned the room, landing once on the pile of food and then on the television. " _Family Guy_?" he smirked.

Steve nodded, staring at Tony. Something was off, but this far away in the dim light, he couldn't quite place his finger on it. "Yeah," he said. "I also bought you food from a place called Tommy's. A chocolate shake, too, but it might be, well, melted."

"No way!" Tony exclaimed, going to the bags immediately, back turning to Steve completely in search for grease and cholesterol. "Jesus Christ," he moaned in such a seductive way that Steve's cheeks heated up, staining them a slight pale pink color. "Is it my birthday or something? I mean, what did I do to deserve this?" Tony asked around a mouthful of food, and Steve took a minute to be surprised at how fast the brunette had shoved fries, bite of burger, and sip of shake into his mouth. "Actually, wait. Isn't yours coming up in a couple days?" he asked suddenly. "July 4th?"

In response, Steve furrowed his brow, simply shaking his head with a slight purse to his lips. "Um, ah, no. I was born November 14th…" he informed Tony in a slightly questioning tone, but that was beside the point. More important things were at his focus now. Smoothing his features and shrugging the oddly specific question off, he rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes back to the television set. Hesitantly scooting over, he patted the empty side of the bed. Clearing his throat, Steve shoved more food in his mouth, purposefully keeping his eyes trained on the screen. "The, uh, the food, though… It was nothing; I just… you can sit, if you want, I mean. My bed's closer to the television than yours, and you can, uh, you can see it better."

Tony paused in his chewing, brows furrowing, eyes narrowing. Steve pretended not to notice the suspicion, continuing to shovel food into his own mouth, eyes unmoving.

Haltingly, Tony made his way next to Steve, arms sagging with the bags of food, and he settled himself at the edge of the bed, digging out more wrappers and edible cache and stuffing them into his mouth. It seemed food and _Family Guy_ were enough to momentarily distract the brunette from Steve's odd behavior.

As Tony watched his reruns on television, Steve studied him more closely, taking note of his features. Tony's suit looked rumpled and wrinkled, which wasn't a shock. His hair was disheveled and wild, but in a more put together way than usual. Instead of the oil stains clumping pieces of hair together, it looked cleaner with its forced effortlessness.

And that's when Steve noticed it.

Along the side of the brunette's cheek and jaw, a bruise was beginning to form. Steve softly closed his eyes. It wasn't hard to put two and two together.

Breathing out, he blinked his eyes open, looking towards Tony and gently reaching his fingers towards Tony's face, caressing beneath his chin. He froze, jaw stopping in its repetitive movements, and his eyes snapped towards Steve's, but he didn't move. Methodically, Steve tilted Tony's chin to examine the growing explosion of deep, dark purple. "Your dad hits you."

Tony's shoulders slumped, and he yanked his head from Steve's hand. "No he doesn't," he snapped, but it was in a subdued mumble. "I just, look, I got into a fight, okay? With one of the S.I. employees again. He was drunk, I wasn't completely sober. It was my fault really."

Steve's head spun with a new web of thoughts that completely obliterated the last one, slicing and tearing carelessly made spirals of silk before carefully mending new strands. "My pops used to abuse my ma," he blurted, voice bitter as he looked back to the television. "I never actually knew him," he continued. "Never wanted to. She left before I was born; she always told me that she left as soon as she was having me because she could handle him hurting her, but she wouldn't ever let him hurt me.

"I hate him. I never met him, but I hate him."

"I don't hate my dad," Tony said quietly.

"I never said you did," Steve agreed. "I was just saying I hate mine."

Tony stared quietly at the bed sheets between them, picking absentmindedly at the blankets, and Steve was sure he wasn't going to say anything until he spoke up. "I wish I could hate him," Tony admitted so faintly Steve almost didn't hear him. Almost. "But he's my dad," Tony continued. "I don't think I know how to hate him."

"It's okay not to hate him, Tony. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Are you getting soft on me, Rogers?" Tony asked, smirking at him, and something in Steve's head clicked, a small breath of: "oh," escaping in his brain.

He simply smiled, the expression only widening at the younger man's newly creased brow. "Nah," Steve shook his head, elbowing Tony's side lightly. "You're still a brat."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Ohhh, we're halfway there! Oh oh! Livin' on a prayer! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. It's lookin' like our boys are finally becoming friends. Hooray!

I want to say thank you to my wonderful beta, Cray Queen of Angst, and an extra, special thank you to s-horne for reading this over last minute for me after adding a new part. Thank you, thank you!

The next chapter will be released 14 February 2019. Yessiree! Happy Saint Valentine's Day, folks! :D


	7. The Hostage Situation

_Chapter Seven: The Hostage Situation_

Steve, because apparently they were now on a first name only basis, had a thing for Tony's workshop. Ever since the man had tried to get all mushy feely with Tony in his very own dorm room, the place where he lay his aching head to sleep (on some nights, at least), the blond seemed to have taken it as permission to have a free, all access pass to Tony's workshop.

Sometimes, Steve even made himself useful by bringing in doughnuts (once) and breakfast burritos (twice) and regular burritos (once) and burgers (five to count) and coffee (almost every day) and Tony was definitely going to get fat on whatever was going on. Because something was definitely going on. Something strange and very, _very_ unfamiliar. Mr. Blond-Hair-Blue-Eyes was spending time with him. Like, lots of time, which was throwing him for a real loop. It wasn't like the way Rhodey would spend a few hours with him on the weekend binging on food, playing video games, or watching movies, and it wasn't like the way Pepper would check up on him to make sure he wasn't dead. This was hours upon hours of… Honestly? Mostly silence and just sitting in one another's presence.

It was driving him absolutely bonkers!

 _Steve_ was playing some kind of angle, here. He had to be. There was always a reason people spent time with Tony Stark, no exceptions. Sure, some people happened to make it into the Tolerate and Baby stage (see above for Rhodey and Pepper), but that was two and far between. So the good Captain, who didn't know he was a captain, had to be up to something. Tony was just having trouble figuring out what.

The older man had an all access pass to the workshop, which was what led to this onslaught of time suddenly spent in one another's company, and the worst part was that Tony almost didn't mind.

On most occasions, Steve situated himself at the window on the countertop tending to read and – a most recent development – sketch in a sad, little notepad. He would sit there silently for a little while, minding his own business, and then pop up when Tony least expected to ask questions and quell curiosity. Which somehow only managed to be helpful!

Just as he used to aim and fire with precision at Tony's buttons, he would come talk to Tony whenever Tony began to find himself in a funk. The acute finesse Steve had was terrifying because he never missed. Never. He spoke not too early, and not too late. Steve was basically Goldilocks, hair and all. Every question and prodding of conversation always lead to Tony's mental dam breaking and an entirely new array of ideas would bombard his mind, and, without warning, he would usually find himself trailing off, eyes going far away before snapping back to reality and completely forgetting he and Steve had been talking in the first place. Steve, for his part, didn't ever seem to mind, simply slinking off with an amused smile playing on his lips.

The man was getting under Tony's skin. He could feel him right there beneath the surface. An itch just far enough to never scratch.

"So. When was it that you installed J.A.R.V.I.S. into the, uh, the ceiling?" Steve asked, pulling Tony from his thoughts.

He looked up, squinting at the older man. "Install in the ceiling?" Tony questioned, unsure if Steve was serious or pulling his… and yeah. He was pulling Tony's leg if the thinly veiled smile and slightly shaking shoulders were anything to go by. "Har har, very funny."

Steve's eyes sparkled, the lights shimmering and dancing in his irises, changing the blues like depth changed the sea. A slight blush swiped across the older man's cheeks, which were rounded from a shit-eating grin. Deep crow's feet burrowed next to those swaying blue eyes, and Tony wondered if Steve would ever get them out. He supposed, one day, Steve wouldn't.

Shrugging, Tony went back to the array of machinery in front of him, feeling just as lost as he did when his mind first started to wander. "I gave J.A.R.V.I.S. full access to the lab a few days before I went to the gala, which includes microphones stationed throughout the place so he can hear me wherever I am and respond to me wherever I am without the use of the Bluetooth."

"Which is why I've never heard him before."

"Yes," Tony agreed, swiveling in the lab stool to look at Steve once again, almost losing balance, but his hand caught the countertop at the last moment, saving his grace. "Although," he recovered quickly, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees, "maybe you shouldn't be making 'Break Into Tony's Workshop' a common enough occurrence to notice these things."

Swinging his legs over the countertop he'd perched himself, Steve flopped his shoulders up and down loosely, hands coming to grip the countertop's edge on either side of his thighs. "'S not like I do that anymore."

"Oh, yeah," Tony drawled. "You just follow me in like a blond Labrador retriever."

"Y'know?" Steve began, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. "I actually take offense to that." And then, honest to God, the man stuck a very pink tongue out between his lips.

An unbidden laugh bubbled to Tony's throat, forcing itself from his own mouth in a surprisingly pleased sound. That smile was back on Steve's lips. "Aren't you twenty-seven? Shouldn't you be acting like an adult?"

Steve let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart and rubbing his chest in a morose manner. Tony's eyes followed the movement without realization, an unconscious tug pulling his lips upward. "Why so judgmental today? You're starting to hurt my feelings."

Pausing, the comment rang true in Tony's ears, cleansing the warmth that had been bubbling up in his tummy. Slumping, he turned back, rubbing at his tired eyes before absentmindedly poking at the parts on his table. His eyes trained on them for a moment, and silence lay heavily in the room. Tony could feel Steve's eyes on his back, practically burning holes into his shirt. "Why _are_ you here?" he finally asked, voice subdued and quiet. Part of him hoped the other man hadn't heard so that he wouldn't have to deal with the answer, but he knew he was going to have no such luck. It was out there, and best know the answer now – nip this thing in the bud – rather than later.

Steve's brows furrowed, and he shook his head as if rattling the words around in his brain would allow it to land in an order he had a better understanding of. Seemingly finding no such order, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "What else could I possibly mean? The question is pretty straight forward. Why? Are? You? Here?

"You already have a place to crash and money for food and other necessities. I'm building you a time machine to get you home. I appreciate the sudden effort, but let me give you a hint: I'm a sure thing."

Blue eyes bored into him, and, eventually, he had to look away because that hypnotic stare was dangerous. It was a look that could all too easily steal into his soul and find every shattered piece that lay splintered, sharp and thick, burning and blinding Steve with any semblance of light he tried to bring in.

There were some things not even Tony Stark could fix.

"You don't think I could be here for any other reason than to get something from you? Take advantage of you?" Steve questioned, voice soft like he were already handling the broken machine that Tony really was.

And Tony _hated_ it. He never could stand pity, and that's what this was. Pity in its finest, most look-how-pathetic-the-little-rich-boy-really-was form.

Fists clenching violently at his sides, the feeling of blood pounding through narrowed veins, the nails digging into palms, the force of squeezing muscles causing his hands to shake, Tony stared intently down at the table top. It was dirty, he noticed, the thought coming dully in a way that was reminiscent of being drunk. More dirty than he remembered because he used to be able to see blurred reflections of yellow light within the matte surface. And now? Now, there was nothing but smears and smudges. Now, there was no light to be reflected off even a matte surface. He'd burned 'em all out with constant failures. Now, in the darkened room, the only lights that remained were bright, blue flashes from dimmed, long unexplored corners.

"Who is?" he spat, finally looking up to see the older man watching him with a scrutiny he wasn't used to. It was different somehow, and his heart rate picked up a little more, but he barreled on anyway because there was no stopping now. This was the only way to go. There were never any other options because, if there were, he would have thought of them. "And I don't need your goddam pity. You don't need to act like my buddy just because I'm doing this for you. I don't need this treatment out of some misplaced sense of guilt. You're not fooling _anyone_. Especially me. Hell, even Rhodey and Pepper wanted something from me at first."

Tony was met with a silence that made him flinch and look back down, cheeks tainting with a rush of blood. He'd… definitely said too much. He always said too much.

The sound of shuffling footsteps met his ears, and Tony honestly hoped that Steve was just going to walk out and leave. Forget any of this – the "friendship," Tony's little outburst – ever happened. Everything would just be so much easier if Steve left because Tony had been broken more times than he could count, and he always mended himself back together. The sooner Steve could just leave, the sooner Tony could tend to his wounds, shallow as they may be.

He blinked back to himself when a sheet of blue paper slid in front of him, and he looked up to see a strong, set jaw and a pair of soft, gentle eyes staring down at him.

Steve cleared his throat, letting the sheet of paper fall to the table. "Dum-E gave this to me a week ago."

Looking back down, Tony led a hesitant hand towards the roll. A mix of pride and joy filled him at the sight along with a choking bitterness. It wasn't supposed to have ended that way. Fingers caressed the paper in a way it no longer deserved, but he couldn't quite bring himself to destroy it. Deftly, he opened it, wondering which disaster would greet his eyes this time.

"The Mockingbird," Tony stated, voice dry and monotone. He closed his eyes, the recesses of his memory trying to invade, and for a moment, his breath stuttered to a stop as the image of his empty dorm room and the too loud voice of a news reporter filled his head like a firework, flashing bright and strong. Just as quickly, he forced it down, pressing his fingers roughly into his eyes until they buzzed like the static on a television set. Allowing a few calming breaths, a weary sort of curiosity filled him as he remembered the topic at hand. The company present. "What does this have to do with anything?" he wondered, opening his eyes and brushing his fingers longingly over the curves and edges in the drawing's lines.

"What really happened with it?" Steve voiced in a muted tone as if he were dealing with something fragile.

 _Maybe he was_ , Tony thought somewhere in the depths of his mind where it wasn't so easy to lie to himself.

"I don't understand," Tony ended up sighing, pushing the paper away, leaning back and crossing his arms, a hand eventually coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Can you just-just explain it to me?" Steve asked. "Please?" he added as an afterthought, and Tony wondered if he knew it had sounded breathlessly close to a plea.

Tony slouched, and he realized he was probably going to fall to the ground, but his back met with something solid and warm. A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Steve sending him a small, hesitant smile that looked too sad to truly be considered a smile. The gesture was minor, miniscule, but it had Tony reeling in a way he'd never been experienced to.

A knot formed in his stomach, twisting and loosening in a confusing manner he didn't want to look into right now. He opened his mouth. The words were soft at first, growing into a crescendo near the end, and he wasn't sure if it was because his voice had become stronger or if the words, themselves, breathed power.

"I wanted to do something to-to help, I guess. You can't exactly hide from the news when your dad is a famous weapons manufacturer. It really doesn't take long for any sort of tragedies to reach your ears. And contrary to popular belief, present company included, I don't really want to make weapons for the rest of my life. I don't even particularly enjoy it now, so I thought: 'Why not make something new that S.I. could still potentially sell to the military?' since that's where most of our contracts lie. So I came up with a drone whose purpose was to provide aid to the people, towns, and countries suffering from crises where it was unsafe for responders to come help. Ideally, the Mockingbird would provide enough supplies for those affected to mend themselves while waiting for outside assistance.

"Originally, I had it bulky and loud so it would be noticeable, thus the large body and engines-" he pointed to the parts on the design "-I thought it'd be a good idea to alert people that the drone was coming so it wouldn't be mistaken as a threat.

"When I presented the idea to Howard, it was accepted, but he told me it would need revisions to better fit the company's needs. I tried to do what he and the company wanted without compromising the original purpose of the Mockingbird.

"But that's where I fucked up," he spewed acerbically. " _I_ made sure to program the locations of the Mockingbird. I didn't- I may not have known that S.I. was going to use this version as a demo for the army in hopes of a sale, but _I_ still did that. I only realized too late what was going to happen, and the town – fifty-four women, twenty-three men, and eighteen children, were obliterated. And no matter what the details, everyone's right. It was my fault. Mine, and no one else's."

Tony's ears were ringing as his words eventually trailed off.

"I'm sorry," Steve whispered, his chest and stomach solid against Tony's back, giving him a purchase to come back to. The hand on his shoulder was squeezing tightly, but there was no pain. He closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, steadying himself as the warmth of body heat regrettably left him.

"What?" he murmured as something hummed above the roaring of rushing blood in his ears. Tony released the pressure from his eyes, vision swimming as he blinked them open.

Steve looked at him with an expression Tony couldn't quite place, repeating himself: "It wasn't your fault." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Steve waved a hand, effectively cutting him off. "I'm not going to try to convince you of that; I have a suspicion it won't work. You _are_ , single-handedly, the most stubborn person I've ever met." Tony muttered a soft, "Hey," before Steve continued on, features lightening at his own comment, which did wonders to ease Tony's own knotted body. "This's why I'm here, though. Not because you're helping me get home, not because you're housing me, and not because you're giving me money. In all honesty, I take all that as compensation for the hell you've put me through while I've been here. I mean, a hand in warm water, Tony? Really?" Tony snorted, and the blonde's smile widened. "I think you, Tony Stark, are an amazing person, and I meant what I said when I admitted that I was wrong about you. The way I acted, that's on me because I should've done better, been better. After all you've done for me and _are doing_ for me, I didn't repay you very well."

"Well," Tony soughed, "at least you were being honest. Not once did you pretend to kiss my ass, even if I am doing this very awesome, time consuming, only possible for me to succeed at experiment with a time machine. So, okay, yeah, you were kinda a dick-"

"Kind of?"

And Tony veritably giggled at that. Embarrassingly and uncontrollably, it escaped his lips in an unbidden thrust of air before he could quite catch it and quell it. Clearing his throat, feeling his own cheeks heat lightly, Tony looked back at his lap, glancing up at Steve through his lashes. "You never pretended, though."

"Have a lot of people done that?" Steve asked tacitly, taking a seat on the stool next to Tony's, and Tony realized that this was the longest conversation they'd ever had, and it was too much. It was all too much, and, suddenly, he wished he could take it all back because he hadn't meant to expose so much. Hadn't meant to practically lay himself bare in front of a man whom he'd always admired but couldn't quite reach. He especially hadn't meant for Steve to so easily understand when no one else ever did. This man, who hated him just a week and a half ago.

Damn those blue eyes for lulling him into a trance of raw honesty.

"That's hardly important," Tony dismissed. "All that's important is that you were a dick, I was right, and you admitted to it all. J.A.R.V.I.S.? We have recordings of all that, right? Wait, no," Tony paused, turning back to Steve. "I want you to say it."

Steve raised a pale blonde brow, blinking at him. "Say what?"

"Say, and I quote, 'I was a dick, and I'm sorry for being a dick, and I will stop being a dick to you Tony.'"

Steve spluttered. "I will not." But a smile was tinting his lips in that odd way, a look of amusement contorting his features that sent a jolt of pleasure through Tony. That look was new.

So Tony did what he did best and pushed his luck. "I won't forgive you if you don't say it."

"Seriously? Now?"

Tony nodded. "J., record this."

The older man let out an audible exhale, rolling his eyes high to the ceiling. "Alright, fine. If this is what it takes. But this is all you get," Steve warned. "No more lording this over me." And then, in the most monotone and bored voice Tony had ever heard – and he had heard himself on multiple occasions talking to Justin Hammer and his own father – Steve said, "I was a dick, and I'm sorry for being a dick, and I will stop being a dick to you, Tony."

He stared at Tony, and Tony stared back, breaking the silence with: "Wow, you have a pretty good memory," and then they burst out laughing.

When the noise finally died down to breathless snickers, Steve eyed Tony, scanning his face. In turn, Steve's face was passive and malleable; there was this expression of fondness and happiness that had Tony's head reeling because that was directed at him. He'd done that.

"You have to know," Steve rumbled, voice deep and soothing like putting a conch shell to his ear to hear the sound of distant waves. When had Steve's voice done that? "I mean it when I say that I was wrong. I'm not here to ensure you build me a time machine and put a roof over my head, even though I am grateful for all that. As shitty as this is going to sound, I never expected that from you because, well, because I never believed you could do it in the first place."

"And now?" Tony inquired meekly.

Steve beamed at him, spreading his arms and looking around the room. "Now? I mean, Jesus Christ, look at all this! Tony, now… now I have no doubts."

Tony coughed, a hesitant smile gracing his face. "You know, for a patron saint, you sure do curse a lot."

Steve chuckled, "Yeah. I try to keep it to a minimum, but I've been known to get my mouth washed out with soap."

"No way," Tony blanched.

"Tony, I live in the forties, not the 1730's. One time…" Steve launched, delving into a story that involved snow, his friend Bucky, and his ma coming home early from work. And Tony, for his part, completely forgot what he had been working on, leaning closer to Steve, elbows on his knees, chin supported by hands, cackling at the shenanigans of a ten year old Captain America and his best friend, James Buchanan Barnes.

* * *

Steven Grant Rogers was nothing like Captain America in the comics or the stories his father lectured him with. He was not similar to his movie counterpart and was only vaguely similar to the biography version of himself authored by a few fellow soldiers who had seen him in passing. The man was different in a way that Tony wouldn't have originally thought he'd enjoy for his past self's hero.

Captain America had this way about him. This authoritative, confident, black-and-white take on the world that made it so easy for him to maneuver it. He made calls on a dime, and was never wrong. He was good and kind to a fault, never leading his team, or any human for that matter, astray. Never one to make a wrong call, Captain America could always differentiate one of the good guys from one of the bad guys. The man was strong and brave and everything Tony Stark wasn't.

And it wasn't so much to say that Steve wasn't all these things, but there were differences.

Steve questioned himself constantly; it took him forever to order a sandwich – a team up Tony had not foreseen in his very young life. Then, when the man decided he liked something, you could almost never get him to try something different or new. He was stubborn for a fault (and yes, Tony was aware that the kettle was black and the pot was black, and all those damned idioms, but Steve could give him a run for his money, and that was saying something). And he also had this dry, sarcastic sense of humor that always seemed to lack in his superhero counterparts.

Part of Tony wondered if this was just because someone had forgotten to mention Steve's whit, or if the serum and war sucked it out of him.

The thing was, in short, Steve Rogers was human and Captain America was infallible.

Which – and Tony once thought it impossible with his father competing in this race – made him hate Steve's superhero counterpart even more. It was like people were using this image to condition their children and make them feel guilty for not being something the man himself couldn't even be. Lord knew Tony had gotten more than one "talk" from Howard on how Captain America would never do such and such and how disappointed the hero'd be in Tony for doing such and such. One by one, the posters came down and the bedsheets off, and the comics in the trash. Most of the comics, anyway.

Glancing over, Tony saw Steve sitting in his usual spot, because the older man had one now, reading yet another book he got from… somewhere. Tony had no idea where. The light from the window played softly with blond strands, spinning them into gold like the tale of Rumpelstiltskin. Normally calm blue eyes had an extra shimmer to them, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight like the surface of a glassy lake. Pale skin seemed almost warmed, and Tony was sure that if he were to walk over and touch, Steve would feel just as warm as he looked.

"Are you done for the day?" Steve asked without looking up from his book, making Tony startle.

"I- what?" he asked, ever so eloquently.

Helplessly, Tony glanced back at his table. So far, he was just working with pieces. Oil stained everything and a cache of pistons and timing chains and wires and hoses and solar cells and batteries all littered the tabletop. He knew what he wanted to do, and really, there was only one option with something that required this much power. If he didn't want to wipe out the entire world's electrical supply (and still need more energy afterwards), he would have to get his energy from the strongest source available to him, which just so happened to be the sun. If he designed the generator in a circular fashion, he could encourage the energy to behave similar to an atom with electrons jumping from one orbit to another, which could potentially create more energy. And if the solar panels were just strong enough, he could maybe begin collecting energy from the stars as well to create a 24-hour charging station. If he used a strong enough glass casing and the proper combination of conductive elements, he could begin collecting and storing energy in indefinite limits.

But that was days long ahead. For now, he just had the beginnings of some sort of engine and a small amount of very weak solar panel. And he could use a break.

"Yeah," he said, musing thoughts still running rampant in his head the way they usually did when things finally began coming together. Blinking eyes clear from the fog that had taken over, he realized Steve had asked him something else. "I'm sorry, what?"

Tony was graced with a bemused smile that made his stomach flip, and he almost looked away again, but that somehow seemed more telling. What that said and which one of them it would say it to, he wasn't sure.

"I asked if you wanted to grab dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah," Steve intoned. "Y'know, like food that's eaten at night. I'm sure you've done that before. The meal is usually called dinner."

"Thanks for the lesson, Bill Nye," Tony said, sarcasm dripping thickly from every word.

Steve chuckled. "So, dinner?" And Tony's stomach gave a pointed growl for which Steve matched with a pointed look. "When was the last time you ate, anyway? I have no doubts you have all sorts of unhealthy stuff hidden around here, but when did you last eat a full meal with food that has nutritional value?"

Tony pursed his lips, thinking back on the last few days, but all that brought around were equations and schematics and blueprints and models and Steve was still staring at him with question. Right.

"Sir's last meal was approximately four days ago, and he finished off his in-lab food the day before yesterday around noon," J.A.R.V.I.S. supplied, and Tony instantly glared up at the ceiling, which was ironic since he'd told Steve on more than one occasion that J.A.R.V.I.S. did not live in the ceiling and could hear him from wherever he found himself in the room.

"You traitor! I'm going to donate you to Caltech, just you watch," Tony threatened, and Steve gaped at him.

"You haven't eaten in three days?! Tony, that's not healthy," Steve insisted.

"Well, I never asked for advice on my health or eating habits, but thank you very much, Steven," Tony snapped, and Steve looked like he wanted to faint. Whatever was going on, Tony very much didn't like it. His own A.I. should not be conspiring against him with someone else. The last time that happened, well, he ran into a time travelling superhero.

Steve was already up and moving around, grabbing his things and a few things he must've thought Tony would want, and before he could protest, Tony found himself being pushed out of the lab by an all too warm and all to large hand on the small of his back. Making himself step away from Steve, Tony looked over to find the man tapping away on the newest prototype of a phone Tony had created, using like some sort of expert, and who did Steve think he was, dominating technology like a dog to water?

Keeping the phone in his hand, Steve gave Tony what he'd grabbed for him in the lab. "Google says there's a pretty healthy restaurant about a mile off campus. It serves organic, all natural dishes with lots of fruits and veggies," Steve told him like Tony was some sort of child, which might have been a little fair since Tony was currently making faces at the thought of having actual fruits and vegetables. "Plus, the walk'll be good for you."

"But I'm carrying all this stuff," Tony whined, and Steve slowly closed his eyes, lowering his head to pinch the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"You're carrying a light jacket, your notebook, and a pen."

Opening his mouth to protest, Tony was left hanging, aghast as Steve strode forward, almost leaving Tony behind in the dust. Screw the scrawny kid from Brooklyn; the future was doing wonders for Rogers, filling him out with lean muscles without the reliance of a super-serum.

Together, the two made their way towards this supposedly "healthy" restaurant, which solely translated to a restaurant with bad food in Tony's books. When they got there, he could tell that the place was nice from the Colonial architecture and hickory brown color. It was nice inside as well; they had to check in with a host and sit in a little waiting area on plush, vinyl benches. The interior was also painted, furbished, and floored in muted browns from its tan walls to its mahogany floors. Lights hung down on chains above tables beneath yellow shades, casting a dull warmth about the place. Behind the hosting podium was a wooden wall where artistic carvings left enough holes to clearly see the well-lit, rectangular bar bathed in a pale, white light just behind it.

As the host led them to a table in the middle of the room, Tony glanced around. Despite the restaurant's reputation, the smell wafting through the air was indulgent; a mix of garlic and freshly baked bread and spices curling around him and Steve. Quite a number of people were milling about at tables and in booths, a quiet hush of conversation laying itself over the place like a blanket.

Leaning forward over his menu, Tony whispered to the man sitting opposite of him: "Well, isn't this cozy?" To which he only got a simple chuckle in reply. Tony leaned back, and eventually the waitress came and took their orders, neither her nor Steve finding his request for a scotch on the rocks to be amusing in the slightest.

Steve read while they waited for their food, something, Tony noted, Steve always did. There wasn't a lot of conversation, whatever story in front of Steve holding most of his attention, and Tony did his best to relax into the back of his chair.

Letting his eyes wander the room once more, he caught himself lingering on the other pairs around them. A young woman in a sparkling dress leaning towards a man in a three piece suit smiling fondly at her. An older couple who were each distracted by something on the table Tony couldn't quite make out, but their hands remained firmly clasped, resting on the off-white tablecloth. Two teenagers not much older than Tony talking animatedly to one another, both dressed up in what had to have been their parents' clothes.

And then Tony's heart rate picked up just slightly, and he glanced back towards Steve who was still staring down at his book, unaware of the inner turmoil reaching its final peak in his brunette companion. Because all Tony could think was: _How long has this been going on?_

Sure, Captain America was a nice looking guy, and Tony worked very hard not to give two shits about who he thought was and wasn't attractive. It helped a lot that his father seemed more than a little irked at the thought of his son turning out to be a quote, unquote: "fag." And it helped that nothing went passed that stage of: Yeah, You're Hot. People were attractive, and that was all, thank you very much. So yes, Captain America was a hunk to have wet dreams about, and Steve Rogers… well, Steve Rogers was nothing to write home about until he started paying attention to you and being all nice and stuff and having a sense of humor that could outmatch Tony's any day. And suddenly, Tony wasn't having wet dreams about the dear Captain. No, Tony was having wet dreams about Steve fucking Rogers. In fact! He was simply having _dreams_ about Steve fucking Rogers.

Tony Stark, billionaire and Playboy in the making, had a crush. On Steve.

Tony _liked_ Steve, a man who lived in the 1940's. A man who had to go back to the past and crash a goddamn plane into the ocean and _die_ , otherwise the world could basically be over. A man who was about nine years older than him and hated his guts just two weeks ago. A man who probably only just tolerated him at this point. A man.

Fuck. Had he said that already? Because he was screwed. God-fucking-damned screwed.

Head snapping up, he was met with worried blue eyes boring into his own. "Hey, Tony, are you alright?"

And boy did he not have an answer for that.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Happy Saint Valentine's Day, everyone! I hope you all had a swell day with your friends and loved ones!

A thank you to my lovely beta: Cray Queen of Angst. I hope you had a wonderful Valentine's as well. :)

The next update will be 24 February 2019, and feel free to check out my Tumblr (alexrogersstark) for sneak peaks and other story updates. Thank you all for reading!


	8. Adrift

_Chapter Eight: Adrift_

Okay, Steve definitely did something wrong. Somehow, he'd already screwed up this short-lived friendship that had been blossoming between him and Tony. He could tell by the way Tony looked at him from across the table, panic and horror dawning in the young man's eyes. Tony looked ready to flee, and Steve found himself immediately going through everything he'd said and done in the past hour, setting his book down on the table.

He'd done something wrong, that much was clear, but the thing was, Steve had no idea what it was.

Hand reaching out like an anchor searching for purchase, Steve's fingers brushed the side of Tony's palm and wrist, but the brunette pulled away like Steve's fingers were soldering irons branding him. Steve promptly pulled back, watching as Tony looked to the side, staring at the ground with firm gaze, mouth set in a grim line.

"What's wrong?" Steve questioned, feeling taut and ready for a battle.

The young man shook his head, blinking slightly and raising his head to meet Steve's eyes. There was a smile on his face, but it looked wrong. It looked plastic, coming nowhere near his eyes. But Tony leaned far into the back of his chair and continued to smile. "I- sorry. It's nothing, just spaced out for a minute. The time machine, it-it's difficult to pry myself away from at times," he said hastily.

Steve might have believed the words if Tony's voice didn't sound strained and his hands weren't gripping his biceps so tightly that the material of his jacket bunched up between fingertips and thumb that didn't quite touch. He looked two seconds away from bolting out the door and promptly followed through with that look once he'd finished his meal, yelling back to Steve something about the "project" and a "breakthrough."

To be fair, Steve had tried to drag the issue of what was wrong out of Tony throughout the meal. He informed the other man that he hadn't meant to be rude and ignore him, but this Stephen King guy had an extremely interesting writing style, and the newest book he'd grabbed from the author was spectacular. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep tonight without the lights on for fear a killer clown would drag itself from the sewers in search of him.

That hadn't even gotten a chuckle. Tony only shook his head and said it wasn't anything Steve did. Some engineering thing had just taken his attention, and he was having trouble getting away. But there was this way he looked at Steve when he thought Steve wasn't looking… it was almost fearful.

So, to repeat, Steve knew he'd done something wrong. By all means, he had no idea what.

Tony was gone by the time Steve got back to the dorm, something that hadn't happened since their fragile friendship began. It was nice, having Tony here, because it was the only time of day Steve knew he could talk to the brunette without worry of interrupting a stroke of genius. It was the time of day he'd lay in his bed, craning his neck to see Tony as the younger man lay in his, _Family Guy_ playing softly in the background, but fire agate eyes would bore gently into Steve's instead of the television, that intense look of focus sending shivers down his spine. It was still breathtaking to be on the other end of that gaze with such a look of interest that Steve's heart sped up. Steve still didn't know how he managed it.

It was nice, though, laying there with Tony, tranquil voices exchanging tales and stories. Tony had this odd adoration for Steve's musings on some of his and Bucky's misadventures, and, on the rare occasion, Tony would share something in return.

For example, Tony Stark didn't know how to ride a bike. It had started with Steve telling him that he had always wanted to learn how to ride a motorcycle, but his ma would kill him herself before she let him do anything so stupid. So one day, he made the mistake of telling Bucky, who promptly found and targeted this gorgeous black and chrome Triumph 6/1 owned by a man who yelled at the grocer on more than one occasion for bagging something "wrong." The bike could've come directly from Steve's dreams. It was so loud that Steve could feel the engine thrumming in his soul, and that didn't even compare to how it imploded in his being once he'd actually sat on it and revved the motor.

Bucky had been the brains of that little operation, hot-wiring the motorcycle then darting away, telling Steve he'd meet him back home for his turn on the hog. In the end, though, all Steve could bring himself to do was go around the block once, very carefully, before returning the bike to its original curb and leaving a note apologizing profusely and explaining that he just needed to ride it once to get it out of his system. Bucky had been furious, and that ride did nothing to get it out of his system.

Eventually, Bucky had saved enough money one year before he enlisted and was shipped out to war to get Steve the exact same bike for his birthday.

Steve had loved the wide-eyes and rounded "O" Tony's lips formed as he mentioned taking part in motor vehicle theft. He loved it even more when Tony lost himself in peals of laughter, radiating this utter happiness not seen often when Steve went on to tell him he'd returned the bike with a note. Tony loved the addition of the note.

As the laughter died down, a cozy silence settled between them, and Steve let himself just watch Tony. The way his infectious giggles turned into quiet huffs. The way his stiff body exhaled more firmly into the mattress. The way his lids drooped ever so slightly, smile softening as the moment passed. He watched as Tony's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, fingers coming to play in their game of nervous twitch on his blanket, pick-pick-picking at the sheet.

"When I was a kid," Tony had begun, looking directly at Steve with this relaxed drowsiness, like he was just beginning to drift off, limbs like stone, breath smooth and deep like waves. "I used to want to learn how to ride a bike. Nothing fancy like your motorcycle, but, like, a bicycle. And I saw this one bike that our neighbor's kid had that I really wanted. I begged my mom for a week straight and hid little hints and reminders around the house for Jarvis – our old butler.

"So, after the umpteenth time of bringing it up, my mother sternly told me no because it would distract me from my school work and would end up being a waste of money because I wouldn't end up using it or riding it. And I could tell, while she was saying this, that they weren't really her words. It was kind of like watching bad acting where the actor and character don't mix well and everything seems forced because they're not portraying what they really want to portray.

"I was about seven or eight at the time, so bear that in mind when I mention I kind of start crying on her because, as a child, learning how to ride a bike seemed like a sort of rite of passage, y'know? Instead of a bike, though, she took me out that day to buy ingredients for brownies – and my mom makes the best brownies. So time goes on, and I keep watching this kid ride his bike from my window as I work on my homework, and I have a thought. This wild, crazy thought: if Howard won't buy me a bike and teach me to ride it, I'll build my own. One that's a billion times better than the one that kid rode."

"Did it work?" Steve asked quietly, his own pleasant smile resting on his face as the buzz of sleep circled his mind.

Tony's eyes had closed, head slack as it rested close to his shoulder and back on his pillows. "No," he yawned, straightening his head and burrowing farther into his covers. "I built it, and it was this beautiful 1967 Schwinn Typhoon with this red body and these gold painted handlebars and spokes. Even the rim and hub were golden. And I remember that it took so long to make because I kept having to sneak down to Howard's workshop to take supplies, which was a challenge in itself. So I get on, and the bike almost spears me as it falls apart beneath my fingertips." He gave a slight chuckle. "It was my first go, and I happened to forget one screw, or maybe ten. Like I said, I was limited by a window and two stories worth of building. But the crash alerted Jarvis and my mom, who alerted my father, and as soon as I was deemed okay and spear-less, Howard began to yell. Well, screech may be a better word. His face got all red, just like yours does, except I think his skipped tomato and went right into beet."

An underlying current of rage had thrummed in Steve, something that was ever present and sharp whenever Howard Stark was mentioned. He watched as Tony drifted off, the story of past anger and abuse a long accepted memory of reality. It made Steve want to punch every person who'd hurt Tony – and the young man's father was standing in the front of what Steve was realizing was an extensive, ever-growing line. The calamity and indifference in which Tony spoke of this, it was like he was used to the pain. Expected it. As if he'd been struck by lightning, and this numbed and excused the twinge of simple electric shocks. It could always be worse.

These scarce moments, though, the ones where Tony let his guard down and let Steve be a part of his world if only for a flash where his eyes were trusting and innocent, filled with laughter and tranquility that so rarely saw this world, these were moments Steve had learned to collect like maya blue zircon gemstones. Recherché little moments that were slowly pulling back the curtain of who Tony Stark really was. And the more Steve learned about Tony, the more he craved to be a part of this world the genius had created. Was continuing to create.

Now, staring at the empty bed, Steve wondered if he'd ever get the chance.

He wondered if he deserved one.

Undressing and sliding into the covers, Steve closed his eyes. It didn't matter. Whether or not he had a chance, Steve would be damned if he didn't try. Even if he didn't deserve Tony and his friendship, Tony did deserve to have someone who would put him first. Steve could, at the very least, do that.

And if this friendship with Tony had started to do funny things to his stomach, if it made him feel warm and tingly inside like experiencing a bright summer day through rose-colored glasses, well, it didn't matter.

It wasn't that this friendship wasn't important to him. Increasingly, it was becoming one of the most precious things in his life, and no, he didn't want to let it go without a fight.

He didn't want to relinquish quiet days in the lab where he knew Tony had spent time and money revamping Steve's "reading nook," as the young man called it, with cushions and better blinds and a horde of books that replaced old science equipment under the counter-turned-alcove. Didn't want to hand away the spot he and Tony were currently clearing out to set up a small art space because he had made one off-hand comment about wanting to draw Dum-E that had led into a conversation about possibly going to art school if the army wouldn't accept him. Didn't want to give up lazy mornings where Tony would let Steve take him to breakfast before heading to the lab, or the way Tony got lost when he talked about his projects, or how he pretended to be angry with J.A.R.V.I.S. and Dum-E only to pat and greet them good morning and good night, or how he'd smile at Steve whenever Steve would bring him his coffee – especially the first time Steve had brought it and had remembered exactly how Tony liked it. That had been an exceptional smile filled with joy, wonder, and surprise, an awe-filled murmur of: "You remembered," whispered quietly under breath.

But this wasn't going to be about Steve. He wouldn't let it be. He refused to be selfish with Tony, not like everyone else.

Steve wasn't going to let Tony down.

* * *

Steve woke up the next morning with the greeting of an empty bed, and his heart sank. Tony still hadn't come back.

The morning continued to bring disappointing hope and constant reminders of Tony's absence. There was no one to grumble at him as he "loudly" got ready for the day. No one to protect his coffee and rachet-y breakfast from. No one to complain about the uselessness of exercise, especially something as boring as running. No one to half-heartedly kick him in the back as he sat on the side of Tony's bed to pull on black running shoes and put his earbuds into his ears.

Just as he was putting in his right earbud, the door swung open, and he looked up with a relieved smile, which froze on his face immediately. It didn't take too long to realize it wasn't Tony behind the door. Seconds after the swoosh of hinging wood, James Rhodes marched into the room.

Shit. He was definitely in trouble.

"Mind if I come running with you?" he asked, lifting his chin slightly, eyebrows rising in challenge.

Steve gulped.

* * *

It hadn't taken a long time for Steve to figure out that James Rhodes was not someone to get on the wrong side of, and he only saw the man in weekly, five minute intervals. Steve, because he was spectacular at pissing people off, had. Needless to say, Tony hating him didn't quite start him and the young man's best friend off on the right foot. So, after one week, five minute intervals of grunts in greeting and farewell, Steve knew he had to have really screwed up for Rhodes to be seeking him out.

For the first thirty minutes, they ran in silence, the soon-to-be-air-force member setting a brutal, unforgiving pace that had Steve falling behind breathless in seconds. It was only after the first mile that Rhodes slowed himself to match Steve's panting jog, and it was another mile after that, in the evergreen park where Tony had saved him from his muggers, that Rhodes finally spoke.

"You and Tony seem to be getting along as of late," he said, making it seem more like an off-hand comment rather than the beginnings of an interrogation, which Steve had no illusions it wasn't.

Steve nodded, slowing his pace even farther, preparing himself for some sort of: what-are-your-plans-for-my-daughter talks. He'd never had one of those, and it was a bit odd to have the beginnings of such a conversation directed at him, especially from someone who was not a parent, but he figured he understood the sentiment anyway. If Bucky weren't larger than him and very capable of handling himself – and the women he chose as partners – Steve might have tried to pull a similar stunt on the more… promiscuous of women.

Sweat glistened on their skin in the early morning heat of summer, and even Rhodes must've needed pause for water since he directed Steve towards the park's nearest fountain. "What do you want from him?" The question was asked jarringly, harshly, like a whip trying to beat a warning into Steve.

He spluttered on the water, feeling the cool liquid shift from its soothing path down his throat to running down his cheeks and chin. Unlike the sweat, the water left Steve's skin touched with a chill he wasn't too fond of.

"What do you mean?" he gasped, clearing his throat and wiping the mess off his face with the bottom of his shirt. "I don't want anything from him."

Rhodes folded his arms, once again forcing himself to be taller – as if he needed to do that, what with Steve's underwhelming and sickly body structure. "Everyone wants something from him, and I've seen him get hurt far too many times to let it happen again. I can tell when he likes someone. When he's getting attached and close to someone, and I won't idly stand by."

"Well, you sure do have real swell timing," Steve snapped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rhodes growled.

Steve turned on him, following a similar move to Tony when they'd first met. Getting into the man's space, Steve raised himself as much as he could without getting up on his tiptoes. "What I mean is that I may not know Tony as well as you, but it doesn't take a genius or a best friend to figure out that he's been hurt on more than one occasion in the past. Badly. You're a little late, here."

"How so?" Rhodes pushed, crowding Steve just as much as Steve was crowding him.

"For starters, you let quite a few under your radar, and you're also missing a huge chunk for your argument. What could I possibly want from him?!"

Rhodes raised a brow, gaze narrowing in. "I dunno, that's a tough one. Let me think… fame? Fortune? Connections? An 'A' on a project? Your own arsenal of never before seen Stark technology? The list goes on and on, and the funny thing is, no one knows who you are, which I find strange. It's like Tones found a lost puppy and decided to take it in out of the goodness of his heart, but, the thing is? Tony Stark doesn't just let people waltz into his life. So who are you, and what do you want from him?"

Well, that made this whole situation a lot more difficult. Steve never had been good at lying, especially when he had to make up said lie on the spot. Lying had, well, it had gotten him into far more trouble than it got him out.

"A family friend," he blurted, wilting from the piercing gaze and challenging stance almost immediately. "I'm a, uh, a family friend. Howard Stark, he- I, um, well, he knows my dad. Who is… all business, and my dad, he has this deal in the works with S.I., and Mr. Stark had told my father that Tony was on summer break, so my dad sent me here to make nice in hopes that it would make the new contract with the company, y'know, smoother and all that.

"He was actually at the gala," Steve continued, hoping that his ramblings were at least somewhat convincing, even if he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. At least he'd stopped stuttering and um-ing all over the place. "The one Tony went to a few weeks ago, and he left me here. I got an earful from my dad later that night because Tony had shown up without me, and when they asked after me, he didn't wanna say he ditched me, so he told them I was deciding whether or not to get a tattoo, and because I found this to be a very serious decision, I decided to skip out on the gala to dedicate the entire day to meditating on this one thought.

"I thought it was funny, he came back, we had a laugh, olive branch extended. I don't- I'm not trying to be his friend just to help my dad. You were there for the warm water incident, which I still may not be over; neither of us really care what our dads want. We just… we're friends now. That's all…" Steve trailed off, shrugging and pretty much looking anywhere but at Rhodes. The tree behind the man was awfully interesting with its… flowers. He really hoped he didn't look as suspicious as he felt.

Rhodes was silent for a moment, eyes scanning Steve's face, and Steve definitely felt like he was being interrogated. He held his breath until Rhodes stepped down, muscles unclenching and space was once again reintroduced between them. "So you're friends now?"

Steve blinked, sighing as the question registered. He slumped back slightly, rubbing the back of his head as he looked towards the bay. "I dunno. I thought we were at least getting there, but I must've put my foot in my mouth again. I keep doing that with him."

Silence settled between them once again, and Rhodes shrugged, starting up his jog. Steve followed, despite the exhaustion, for lack of anything better to do. "What'd you say?" the man asked eventually.

"That's the thing," Steve breathed. "I have no clue. I've gone over the conversation again and again in my head, but nothing comes to mind. I was just reading, really, and then I looked across the table to see him staring at me in this strange way, and then he bolted out after he finished eating."

"Wait, you and Tony, my Tones, had dinner last night? You, got him out of that lab of his? How?"

Furrowing his brow, Steve glanced at Rhodes from the side of his eyes, trying to concentrate on his breathing. "What do you mean? I just told him he needed to have a real meal with vegetables and then grabbed his stuff from the lab for him. No real fuss."

Rhodes stopped so quickly that Steve almost ran into his back. He turned, eyes piercing into Steve once again, and Steve really should start charging his foot rent for the amount of housing it took up in his mouth. He could use the extra buck.

"Waitwaitwait," Rhodes started, waving his hands in front of him as if warding off a curse. "You're telling me that one: you got Tones to eat vegetables, and two: you were in his lab?"

"Um, yeah," Steve coughed, bending over to put his hands on his knees. "I'm pretty much there every day. The running thing, are we almost finished with it?" he wheezed. Steve felt like his vision might begin tunneling at any minute. Was there a bench around here somewhere? This stop and go really wasn't working for him.

Steve looked up at Rhodes, and the man just stared at him, looking taken aback before something akin to understanding blossomed over his features. Something that sounded suspiciously close to: "Shit," uttered from his breath as his hands found purchase on his hips, head falling to his chest, and he closed his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Steve gasped out, feeling his breath beginning to come back to him.

"It's nothing," Rhodes sighed. "I just think I should talk to Tony later."

Steve straightened, frowning. "Tony's okay, isn't he?" Steve pushed, and Rhodes looked at him with that detective like gaze that must come so naturally, but this felt more a look of curiosity than hostile interrogation.

The man hummed. "Yeah, he's fine."

The rest of their jog was made in a fair amount of silence, only broken occasionally by Rhodes "encouraging" him to keep running and giving Steve tips on how to better his form an optimize his workout. He even offered to do some strength training with Steve as well, so Steve figured he'd at least gotten on the better side of James Rhodes.

By the time the two men got back to the dorm, the sun was midway through the sky, and Steve's stomach was growling, gnawing insatiably at his insides. Steve had been familiar with hunger, but the deep excavating that was introducing itself every few hours after exercising was new, and he was glad that it greeted him here in this time period.

Rhodes didn't stay much longer with him after that, quickly cleaning off and leaving to meet his girlfriend for lunch. It didn't take long for Steve to follow, the allure of food tempting him from the dorm room as well.

Eventually, as most days found him, he was standing in front of Tony's workshop door, one bag of food clenched in one hand and the other between his teeth as he dug through his pocket for the fingerprint. Pressing it firmly against the pad, he waited for the light to turn green in greeting and allowance.

The light blinked red twice.

Frowning around his mouthful, Steve pressed the mold more firmly against the pad only to receive the same, halting flash of red.

Stuffing the print back into his pocket, he lifted a clenched fist and banged what was possibly a little too harshly on the door. He heard the pause in music and the shuffling of steps towards the door before it opened a crack to reveal Tony. Even at the smallest sight of the younger man, hair a mess of curls and oil, face covered in grease, clothes bagging and hanging loose against his frame, Steve still felt a calamity wash over him.

Tony had been the first person Steve had seen in this new world. He was the one who, despite Steve's anger and dislike of him, helped Steve. Housed him. Gave him hope for a way back to 1942. Tony meant safety in this world of fast-paced, fast lived ways of life. Tony meant home.

The thought took Steve's breath away for a moment.

He never did get the chance to really build a home. A place where he felt wholly safe and at peace. His ma always did her best before she passed, but there was always that underlying sense of overworked stress and the prowling of illness, something that they were never able to mask. Even while he and Bucky had gotten their first apartment together, the same stresses and worries meddled in every crease and corner. And it wasn't just the environment that came with living in the early 1900s. No one had ever given Steve the sense of calm, the sense of Everything-Will-Be-Okay that Tony gave him because that's just who Tony was.

Steve saw the cluttered dorm room in his mind's eye, Tony sneaking blankets and pillows from Steve's bed and repositioning them on his own. The explosion of vitality of the workshop, and Tony bent over yet another blueprint for yet another S.I. proposal that would probably get rejected. The folded, carefully concealed handful of hundreds Tony had left for their favorite coffee shop barista after she'd stepped out crying because of a family medical emergency. Could see the dog he'd nabbed as it bolted by, its owner desperately chasing far behind. Tony giving that wet, black nose a soft peck as he handed the wriggling and excited puppy back to the arms of its owner.

Tony was unlike anyone else Steve had ever known. He was a fixer. He had this knack for seeing what needed to be done and having the ambition to think, "Hey, maybe I can do that." It would never matter how many times he failed. How many times he was rejected. How many times he was knocked off his horse. When it came to fixing things and helping people, Tony would always selflessly and instantaneously climb back on to that saddle.

It was an essence that belonged solely to Tony.

Steve knew everything would be alright. That things would end up exactly how they needed to because Tony would take care of it. Tony always took care of it.

 _But who takes care of Tony?_ a thought flashed through his mind.

The clearing of a throat brought his attention back to the world around him, and he blinked the brunette back into his vision, cheeks heating slightly as he realized he must've been staring for quite some time. He coughed. "I, uh, sorry to interrupt. I just brought lunch and, well, my fingerprint mold isn't working for some reason…"

Tony looked up at him, big, brown eyes that looked like pools of amber in the afternoon sunlight cautious. "Um, thanks," he murmured, eyes looking away from Steve's, arm not reaching towards the offered food that had fallen from Steve's mouth and stumbled into his spare hand. "The mold, it-it won't work anymore. I took the fingerprint off the accessibility list in J.A.R.V.I.S.'s code," he finished off in a faint tone.

Steve felt his stomach drop, world freezing around him. Tony began pushing the door closed again, spurring Steve back into action as his arm came up to stop that door from closing him out. If Tony did that, if that door closed, Steve wasn't sure it would ever open again.

"Wait, what? Why?" Tony opened his mouth to respond, features carefully blank. It was like a mask. These features were careful, constructed, and Steve could only see this becoming a stronger skill as time went on. He didn't want Tony to ever use this skill on him. "I'm sorry," Steve blurted before Tony could even get anything out of his mouth. "I am. I know something happened last night, but I- look, whatever it is I said or-or did, I'm sorry."

Tony shook his head, closing his eyes, mouth pinching into a thin line. The younger man seemed to need a moment to put his thoughts in order, but Tony still would. Not. Look. At. Him. "You don't need to apologize. Nothing happened," and then those eyes finally met his and there was something buried there beneath loam soil. Something Steve couldn't figure out, but it was enough. Enough to know that Tony was lying to him when he gave a smile that was too hard, too strained to be real. "I just need to focus right now, so no one's allowed in. Top secret stuff, okay?"

Then the door shut, the click of metal sliding into wood echoing around the pelagic hallway. And Steve suddenly found himself adrift once again.

* * *

 **Notes:**

Heyo! I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. Looks like things are coming to a head with our boys, huh?

I want to give a thank you to my lovely beta, Cray Queen of Angst. She is absolutely wonderful.

The next update for this story will be on 07 March 2019, so be sure to tune in. Also, feel free to check out my Tumblr alexrogersstark for updates on the story and sneak peaks for upcoming chapters!


	9. The Robot Test

_Chapter Nine: The Robot Test_

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._ Tony laid his head on the table in front of him, feeling the vibrations travel from his forehead down to his cavernous chest, reverberations bouncing around bony walls of the cave. His heart skipped a beat, timing itself with the beating on the door. _Thumpthumpthump!_

God. Why couldn't Steve just go away? Why couldn't he make this easy?

Tony groaned into the countertop. "Go away, Steve!" he called, bringing his arms to the table to provide his head cushion. "I'm working on something," he muttered into the pillow of warmth.

The thumping continued, though, and somehow increased in its resonance. It was like his body was a taut bowstring being plucked with every pounding. If that noise didn't stop soon, it was going to give Tony one of the worst headaches in his life. Pushing himself up, he stumbled tiredly to the door, the last few nights having been rough on his sleep schedule; it was pretty hard to ignore someone when you shared a dorm with them.

It was evening now, sun falling unceremoniously to greet its lover, slowly sinking beneath in an envy inducing sort of love making. The sky was awash with magenta and violet and red. _Funny_ , Tony thought, _how lights worked the opposite of pigment_. In a matter of hours, the absence of light would turn the sky an empty black punctured sparsely by stars trillions of lightyears away and long dead. They all die before the reach us, the light never in time.

He yanked the door open fiercely. "Steve-"

"Do I look white to you?" Rhodey greeted him, pushing himself through the narrow opening of the door and landing somewhere behind Tony.

He stepped back, slightly shocked, and slowly pushed the door closed. "Rhodey?" Then his eyes narrowed. "What's wrong? What do you need? What happened? Is Pepper alright?"

Rhodey simply rolled his eyes, turning to make his way farther into the lab. Tony watched as his eyes gazed around in mild interest. "Does something have to be wrong for me to come see my best friend?"

"Since you started doing the wonky tonk with Pep? Um, yeah. Also, you've never come by my lab in the history of ever unless something's wrong, or you want to chew me out, which would also indicate that something's wrong. In your eyes, of course. So what's got your panties in a bunch this time, Sweet Pea?"

Rhodey raised a brow, unimpressed. "Wonky tonk?" he said with more monotone than Tony would like.

"Yes, wonky tonk," Tony defended, placing his hands on his hips and walking closer to the man in question. "Y'know, the Big Bang. The Houdini. The Screwnicorn. San Fransisco Bird Feeder. Cosbey's Sweater-"

"Okay!" Rhodey surrendered, raising his hand. Tony smiled innocently. That was more like it. "You need to stop," his best friend continued with a sigh. "How do you even know all of those?"

Tony shrugged, "It's not that hard, Rhodey Bear. All you need is some classic Urban Dictionary. If you need any help-" Tony gestured.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Your funeral," he waved his hand, moving behind the table and once again sitting down with an added plop for pazazz. Rhodey always deserved the pazazz, and he needed new, far more comfortable seats. How could he be expected to pazzaz in such a flattened, unsupported piece of furniture? No, this simply wouldn't do.

Rhodey's head fell forward, and he let out a long, audible sigh, placing his hands on the other side of the table and rocking slightly towards Tony before rocking back and looking at him. "I think you've had too much internet, Tones. No more."

Tony gasped. "You can't do that! I'm almost eighteen, which means you can't ground me. _That's_ not allowed. This is _America_!"

"Do you even know what you just said to me?" Rhodey asked, moving to place himself in a chair next to Tony's, relaxing back into the monstrosity.

"Do I need to?" Tony dismissed, unimpressed. "I just like how they sound."

A silence fell in the room, pregnant in pause, and Tony waited. There was a reason Rhodey always knew exactly what to say. "So," he finally began, "I wanted to talk about Steve-"

"Oh God!" Tony exclaimed, banging his head back onto the table, a loud thunk settling itself into the flesh of his skull. That… may have not been his greatest idea. "Nope," he mumbled. "No. Absolutely not. We are definitely, one-hundred percent, _not_ having this conversation."

"He has unlimited access to your lab; not even I have that," Rhodey said, ignoring Tony's outburst. The nerve of some people. Sheesh.

"Okay, then I'll give you full access to the lab. No yellow tape. Nothing. Better? All Steve happened to do was steal my fingerprint and break in. _I_ was only too lazy to kick him out. There. End of story."

"You let him take you out to dinner," Rhodey pointed out.

"What? Do you have some sort of _list_? Are you stalking me, honey-bee? I love you, but not like that. And I happen to like food, thank you very much. It's very good," Tony said, folding his arms and getting up, walking away from Rhodey, who _followed._

"He said you ate vegetables," the man continued down his list, picking up his pace as Tony did as well. It was a lot like a predator hunting for prey, except Rhodey's goal was to trap him with his lying liar words and make Tony listen to a lecture on the birds and the bees. No thanks. That definitely wasn't going to happen, and mostly because _there was nothing to talk about._

"Covered in butter and garlic and salt and a bunch of other stuff that overpowered the healthiness and made it delicious!" Tony said over his shoulder, but he'd reached a dead end. He looked side to side, up and down… mmm hmm, just as he suspected. No way out. Turning on his heal with the vain hope of having time to backtrack and find a new escape route, his nose practically smashed itself into Rhodey's big fat stupid chest as the man stepped in front of him. Folding his arms over his chest and widening his stance, Rhodey blocked Tony's sole exit. The bastard.

As Tony waited for the inevitable to come, he kept his eyes off to the side and on the ground, head bent slightly in the way that said, "I'm doing my very best to ignore you right now and pretend that I did not lose our little game of tag." When no words came immediately, Tony glanced up, surprised to see his friend had deflated slightly, one arm having fallen to his side while the other pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Look, Tones, you know I don't have a problem with your sexual orientation-" he started quietly.

Tony jolted slightly, stomach flopping. "Gee, great! Never thought you did; however, I am regretting telling you about it now," he interrupted with a strained laugh that wheezed itself through his tightening throat. This wasn't a simple I-know-you-have-a-crush-on-Steve talk; it was a serious _serious_ talk if Rhodey was going to pull out the big guns. "I'm glad we got this out of the way, though. Who wants dinner? My treat."

"I've never had an issue with it!" Rhodey talked over him, gaze firming and turning less careful and, God forbid, sterner. "And I know how you are. You're my best friend, and I can tell when you like someone. You acted the same with Pepper when the two of you first met."

Folding his arms, Tony's jaw clenched as he glared down at the ground, foot toying with the fallen remnants of machines of past. "And look how well that turned out," he grumbled.

Deep brown eyes returned to their softened state. "I know, and I really am sorry about… all of that. It was-it wasn't my finest moment, but I- Pepper's just…" he trailed off, looking more than a little lost at the prospect of voicing something so wild and insane into sanity. At the look, Tony felt intense jealousy and longing spike deep in his core, and not because he wished he had Pepper. He didn't. Not anymore.

Tony threw his arms up in a loose whatcha-gonna-do-'bout-it-? gesture. "I get it. She's the moon and the stars to you. I may be a shitty best friend who isn't as happy that you found your person as I should be, but I'm no longer angry or upset. I see the way you look at her."

The older man smiled at him. "Sometimes you're more mature than many people give you credit for."

"And the other times?" Tony quipped, raising a brow, but an insolent smile still tugged at his lips.

"Literally the worst. I've never met someone who could behave more God awful than a two year old throwing a tantrum because their sandwich was cut the wrong way, and that made it taste different."

Tony beamed. "Thank you! I've been honing that skill for many years!"

"It shows," Rhodey nodded, looking him up and down in faux assessment. He shook his head. "That's- Tony, stop trying to distract me. That's not what I'm here for. I'm here to talk to you about Steve."

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Tony slumped back, groaning. "Ugh! What? What about Steve?"

"You have feelings for him." That man couldn't sugar coat worth a damn.

"I _do not_!" Tony gasped.

A heavy breath pushed its way from Rhodey's lips. "Half the time, I don't know why I put up with you."

"It's 'cause ya love me. Y'know, 'cause I'm awesome," Tony grinned, batting his eyes.

"The thing is-" the man ignored him: "-you like him, and I know you like him, and we need to talk about this right now before you go and do something incredibly stupid. Something we both know you're eventually bound to do," Rhodey supplied.

"Well, as you can see, there is no problem," Tony retorted, sweeping his arms out and twirling around. "Steve is no longer here."

"Yeah," Rhodey deadpanned. "He's out there looking like a lost, kicked puppy. Not just lost, and not just kicked. Both, Tones. So tell me, your answer to this 'problem,'" he air quoted, "is to, what? Completely nix him out of your life so he doesn't figure out you like him?"

"Okay, first of all, I don't like him. Second of all, even if I did, what else do you suggest I do? Confess my feelings? Go on dates? Get married? Live happily ever after? As if! Not only would that be a bad idea because one: he most definitely doesn't think of me in that way, but two: how do you think people would react if I were in an openly gay relationship of any sort? Howard would kill me before I could even reach the closet's doorknob, and the media would have a feeding frenzy in that bloodbath!"

"I thought you didn't care what people thought," Rhodey reminded him.

The energy drained from Tony, and he hugged himself across his stomach. "I don't. Not really, but everyone's been… _severely_ up in arms about this type of thing for the past twenty years. When I was walking down to the hardware store to pick up the security system for the lab, there was this guy who- Rhodey, he looked so sick. The man was just lying there against the wall in dirty, ragged clothing. I could _see_ the dirt and grime on his face, and his breaths came out in these awful wheezes.

"So I asked him if he needed money because there was no sign, no begging, no attempt to ask for help at all. And he just… he just gives me this smile, Rhodey, and tells me there is no helping him. Tells me that he was diagnosed with AIDS a while back, so his wife just kicked him out. His kids shunned him, and now he was just letting the disease take its due course.

"I don't want that to be me…" he admitted.

Rhodey looked at him, eyes searching his face for, what? Tony didn't know, but eventually Rhodey simply pulled him into a tight hug, and it just felt so nice that Tony simply let him.

"I am sorry that society is the way that it is, but you know things will change, right? In the world and in your personal life. Everything always changes. So, I understand that things may be a bit difficult now, but if he makes you happy, then I honestly think you should try with him. I know it wouldn't be in your nature, but the two of you could always keep it discreet until said things in life come 'round. I just don't see you happy all that often, Tony, and if he does that, why not?"

Tony gave a wet chuckle, pulling away and smiling up at his best friend. "I'm still not saying that I like him, but, even if discretion were in my genes, you still forget that I've spent the last two months with him. The first of which he hated my guts. So trust me when I say, he doesn't feel that way at all."

This response got a raised brow. "I dunno, Tones. I'd say give the guy a chance. I think he may surprise you."

"Is there anything else you want?" Tony asked, huffing a small laugh.

"Nah." Rhodey shook his head and patted Tony firmly on the shoulder before squeezing it gently. He glanced at the gold Casablanca Theorema watch that Tony had given him as a birthday gift last October. "And I should probably get going anyway. Pepper and I are going to grab dinner and a movie. By the way," he added, already making his way through the maze of technology now fallen, "Pepper thinks Steve likes you, too, and says to go for it!"

"Wait!" Tony yelled, stepping forward right as Rhodey reached the door. "You told her?! You jackass!"

The door closed, but he could hear Rhodey's laughter echoing down the hall as the man jogged away.

* * *

Steve remained outside of the lab. To Tony's surprise, over the past few days, Steve hadn't once mentioned accessing the lab. He hadn't really mentioned anything, remaining stonily subdued as he walked Tony to and from the lab every day. Tony had expected something of a fight, to be honest. He'd thought that Steve would start long gone yelling matches and try to wheedle his way back in, but there was nothing. The man acted like a bodyguard, taking Tony to and from the dorm room and waiting for him outside the lab. It was eerily similar to how things were when they first met, without Steve constantly getting upset about anything and everything his mind could come up with.

Then, they became friends, and Steve would talk to him about anything and everything his mind could come up with.

Now.

Now there was nothing, and Tony wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with that.

Turning the knob on the blowtorch to turn it off, he put it down and lifted the faceplate of the welding mask from his head and sighed. The smell of gas and iron assaulted his senses as his eyes adjusted to the new light and scanned over the beginnings of a very large, very high capacity energy storage system. Or, well, what he hoped would be one. Whatever insane notion Rhodey was going on about, he was wrong. He'd misread something, came to the wrong conclusion, because if Tony had even a chance before he locked Steve out – which, HA! Pa-lease – he certainly didn't now.

Steve had known Tony was lying. He could still see the look of hurt and resignation freezing itself in the once warm waters of Steve's eyes. He knew the second Tony had pulled open that goddamn door.

Jesus, even begging and bargaining would've been better than this icy surrender.

Tony took a step back, looking what was going to be a very large machine up and down. He made a mental note to ask Rhodey to help him move it outside before it got much larger and couldn't even fit through the doors before slapping the face of the helmet back over himself and switching on the blowtorch.

Not a few moments later found him turning the thing right back off again.

Whispers of a familiar sound had begun working its way around the workshop, nestling itself into the inner parts of Tony's ears. His shoulders and his arms tensed, feeling his sweat run cold; one droplet in particular formed at the basin of his skull and rolled down his neck and back, adding deeper chill into the fabric's pool of sweat. Slowly, Tony removed the helmet completely, looking over his shoulder to stare at the door.

There was no real logical explanation for it, nothing concrete, but Tony knew what was coming.

"J," Tony warned, running to grab a sheet from underneath one of the desks, "you are to remain silent until he's gone. You hear me? I don't care what he says or does. You keep _quiet_. Understood?" he finished, throwing a once white sheet over the power system, its surface yellowed with wear and time, stained with splotches of oil, grease, and things Tony had no ideas as to what they could be. It fluttered loosely over the machine, pooling gently on the floor akin to the ebb and flow of a rippling stream darting over and around lumpy, shimmering rock-bed.

"Yes Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. answered gravely.

As fast as he could, Tony began frantically darting around the room, shoving anything into the dark crevices of the lab that could possibly condemn him. Dum-E beeped worriedly, and Tony forcefully shoved the bot into even farther recesses of the lab, fighting to trap him behind a barricade of steel and wooden beams and a few discarded bricks. He only hoped it would hold.

His eyes hurtled around the room for anything that he cherished or considered dangerous, landing on the beginnings of the actual time machine. Well, it was less of a machine and more of a ray gun. Similar to what Steve had described as bringing him here, which is what gave him the idea. It was an odd design to have in his workshop, its sleek, smooth, reflective surface not blending in with a lot of the bulkier, louder experiments making a home wherever he could find the room. The rounded, clean, natural curves to the gun also clashed with many of the more rough around the edges engineering styles most saw today.

Like the energy system, the gun was still in very early stages. Tony hadn't meant to start working on that until the issue of energy had been solved and built, but it helped him, jumping from one project to another. Without Steve's questioning to give him pause and allow his subconscious to work the problem out, he needed something else. And so the base of a golden chrome painted gun was in its first few stages of modelling.

It was also right on Tony's desk and in direct view of the door where a familiar screeching was making itself known.

"What do you mean, 'You can't get in?' He's a seventeen-year-old boy with a cheaply made, recycled classroom. It's not possible to not outsmart him; if you people can't hack into a rudimentary computer program, then break down the goddamn door!"

Scrambling to the laser, he had hoped to find a small nook or cranny for that as well, but it was too late. The hounds had been released, and his door was being smashed in; the arsenal had been pre-stocked, pre-loaded, and pre-fired. With nothing more he could possibly do, Tony raised the gun above his head and discharged it to the ground with all his might. A feeling of desolation coursed through him like a gasping shiver as he watched with a blank stare as yet another thing he created shattered at his feet. At the same time, his door splintered inward, caving towards him with a shutter and a groan. Two more hits and a gaping hole stood where his barricade once did, a settling of dust lying at his feet now as well.

 _Three strikes shouldn't've caused a door to break off its hinges,_ he thought absentmindedly as he dully watched this new scene unfold before him. _One. Two. Three strikes yer out!_

Two burly men stepped just inside the room, making their way to either side of what was now an archway, another two stepping to the sides just outside the room. Jesus, you'd think the man walking in was the president of the United Fucking States.

Slowly, said man came into light, and Tony didn't need all these grandiose gestures to know who it was coming in. He'd been training to duck and cover ever since he could distinguish whose footsteps were coming towards his bedroom door. Nonetheless, the man stepped forward lethargically, doing his best to look calm and even-tempered. But Tony could tell – Tony could always tell – by the extreme clench in the jawline, the tight clasp of hands on forearms behind the back, the bulging neck veins, the glare the matching brown eyes sent lazily, but burningly like the look alone could set to flames and destroy undesirables, around the room before settling on Tony. He was dressed in a three-piece, always the showman, with his moustache primly shaped and combed. A full head of dark, black hair was cut fairly short, but still long enough to be parted to the side and slicked back stylishly. The lines in the man's face, though, that's where you could really see the age, the labor, the liquor, the fury, the abuse. Those were a lot harder to hide.

"Hi dad," Tony greeted with a cough as dust entered his lugs. Leaning back, he smiled at his father, grin widening when the man's eye twitched. Even with a few feet of space, Tony could already see the redness of his father's eyes and the stench of alcohol seeping from his pores like sewage sludging from a pipe. Howard was drunk. Not that the signs were overtly obvious but to the expert eye. The man _had_ had years of practice in such departments.

"So," Howard began, rolling the word in his mouth for a moment as he picked his glower back around the room. " _This_ is what my hard earned money is going towards, huh? Useless junk?" he practically spat as he kicked at something close to his feet. Not hard enough to really do anything but send it to the ground with a ricocheting clatter.

Tony winced. "I thought you and mom went to California after the Fourth."

Howard ignored him – which came as no complete surprise – opting to wander farther into the lab towards Tony. The prying eyes, Tony didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. He felt like he was out in the open while in enemy territory.

"I would think that with a security system meant to keep me out, you'd have something better to hide in here."

"You could've tried knocking," Tony shrugged, then staggered back when his father's advance became a little more aggressive.

"You think this is funny, young man?" the man asked, tone low and deadly. "Spending my money without a care in the fucking world? Wasting it so you can, what? Build useless pieces of junk that don't even work right?!" he ended in a customary yell. Tony looked over his father's shoulder to see Steve, ever present, sitting at his table, book folded neatly in front of him, muscles rigid, waiting for action. His eyes met Tony's for the briefest of seconds and then Steve was scanning the area around them. Around Tony. There was an odd intensity in Steve's eyes that Tony didn't understand, but he hoped Steve wasn't thinking of sharing one small, little time travelling secret with Howard Stark. Now was very much not the time. One wrong move, and they might both be dead.

"And then," his father continued, volume back in control, but barely. Tony could still hear the waver between soft and ear-splittingly loud. "Come to find that you've been lying to me, to your mother, to your professors, tricking the school and the dean."

Tony's eyes snapped back to his dad's, and he gulped. Uh oh.

"To my surprise, and to the dean's, who called me _personally_ to explain the situation, interrupting an extremely important meeting, you apparently graduated already."

He shook his head slowly, eyes wide. "I- no. No I didn't. I still have another year."

Howard stepped closer to him; Tony took another step back. "No, _son_ , you don't," he practically growled. "It seems a few units here and there were found during a routine maintenance system check. Care to explain to me what happened? Tell me, Tony, how long did you think you could get away with this before I found out? Before the media found out?"

"There was a mistake; that's all," Tony insisted weakly.

A fist came into contact with the energy storage system, and Tony flinched, hearing a few pieces of loosely melded metal and screws clatter to the ground. "Don't lie to me, boy!" Howard roared. "You're seventeen and still pulling the same bullshit! Your mother keeps insisting you'll grow out of it, but here you are, wasting my money and lying to our faces! How am I supposed to deal with this, huh? You think I have time for your antics? What happens when the press gets wind of this? Do you know how _horribly_ you've made my company look already? You're going to take S.I. right down the drain! I have half a mind to remove you as successor and sit back and see how well you do without my resources."

"Dad!" Tony exclaimed.

"I won't have this anymore!" Howard bellowed, coming closer to Tony, but his fists remained twitching at his sides. Too many witnesses, but that might not be enough to hold the man back for long. "I'm finished with your childish behavior! You're coming back to California before the next semester begins. One month; I'm giving you one month to pack up your things. It's time you learn hard work."

And, for a flash, Tony had the strongest of urges to push back and _really_ make his father mad. Tell the man that he refused to make weapons, but he thankfully never got the chance to precede one of the worst beatings he'd ever get in his life – witness or no witness. A beeping grew louder from the abyss until Dum-E came rolling up, appearing between Tony's and his father's feet. He meant to push the bot back, or step in front of it, or something, but it was too late. Howard had already seen it.

"I thought," Howards ground out, "I told you to destroy that useless thing."

"Dum-E is _not_ useless!"

Something dark gleamed in Howard's eyes, muscles releasing in a quick motion, like a spring being released. Grabbing the bot's arm with a smooth, unblemished hand, a shiny, black dress shoe landing itself on a wheel, Tony watched as his father tore Dum-E's claw from his body.

"Stop it!" Tony cried in horror, trying to push his father away, but Howard shoved him to the ground as he tossed the arm aside.

It was right as Howard was moving back to Dum-E, the bot beeping frighteningly and trying to roll away but being unable, when Steve charged in front of him, somehow having gotten past the guards, and punched Howard Stark in the face, knocking them both to the ground.

"What the hell is going on?!" Howard hollered, scrambling back as the four men ran up and got a firm grip on Steve, who didn't seem all that interested in continuing the fight, but they threw a few of their own punches and hits nonetheless. "You!" his father pointed. "How dare you? Do you know who I am?!"

Steve was hauled to his feet, face bloody and bruised in an all too familiar way. He looked up at Howard, grunting. "Unfortunately."

His father fumed, looking to the men holding Steve. "Take him to the station and have him booked."

Tony pushed himself into a sitting position, ears ringing slightly from the contact of head and ground. He watched, unsure of what to do – or if there was anything he could do – as they pulled Steve through the door. Their eyes met one more time, a humble smile coming to Steve's bloodied lips until his head hung forward, exhausted and heavy. As Steve rounded the corner of Tony's vision, Howard stopped at the edges.

"One month," he reiterated. "I expect this to be cleared out by the end of August." Then he turned on his heal and followed his men out of the room.

Silence fell unceremoniously on the lab, being broken every once in a while by Dum-E's upset beeping. Eventually, Tony crawled over, finding the claw and inspecting it carefully. Dum-E came barreling up to him, snuggling to Tony like a dog. Wordlessly, Tony inspected the points where claw and gear separated.

It was superficial, the split. Nothing difficult to mend. Howard wasn't really strong enough to do any real damage.

"J?" Tony asked hesitantly after what felt like an eternity had passed. The sun was setting, dipping fleetingly beneath the horizon. His voice felt a little rough and sore around the edges, his eyes burning with a wetness he refused to even acknowledge. "Do you know what jail they took Steve to and how much cash I have saved here in the lab?"

"He is currently at the Cambridge Police Department," J.A.R.V.I.S. informed him. "And your cash stores are more than enough to bail Captain Rogers out."

* * *

 **Notes:**

Thank you thank you to everyone who's reading, favorite-ing, and following. I really appreciate it, and I hope you guys like this chapter. :)

A shout-out and thank you to my beta: Cray Queen of Angst, and the next update will be 17 March 2019!


	10. The Jailhouse Rock

_Chapter Ten: The Jailhouse Rock_

This wasn't going to be Steve's first rodeo with spending a night in a jail cell. When you got into as many fights and lied to as many army recruiters as he did, you were bound to end up behind a bar or two. What did shock him, though, were the amount of unimpressed and dismissive looks he got. The police officer Howard Stark's employees talked to gave the men raised brows as she looked Steve up and down and asked if the two men holding him in a grip of death were _sure_ they wanted to put _him_ in a cell, for God's sake!

Of course, when he was taken to the back and placed in one of those overnight cells, he could take a venture as to why the lady had given him such a look. The men crowding the cell he had been placed in were burly with an overwhelming amount of muscle mass and piercings and tattoos and glares that could freeze even the hottest corners of hell.

Doing his best to disappear into the crowd, Steve shrunk in on himself and made his way to the back corner, sitting on the edge of an uncomfortable, metal bench. Gazing around, he noted that the cell wasn't all that different from the ones he'd been in in the twenties, thirties, and – he was proud to say – only three times in the forties. Grey stone made up the back wall, peeling and chipping in most places. The bars grouped closely together, rusting around the edges, one cutting through the others horizontally about halfway up from the floor. To his left, the cell ended in more grey wall, but the right ended with more bars and a look into the female cell. This was also the side – if you stood on the other side of the bars, mind you – that the door stood proudly, clocking and exit towards freedom with boasting finality.

Fluorescent lights blared obtrusively into the cell, and Steve felt his stomach clench.

It was all too similar to the hospitals that he'd been in and out of throughout the fragile beginnings of his life and even far up into his teens. The lights projected memories of lying in beds and being poked and prodded at with needles and sharpened fingers. Of wondering if he was going to make it through the night, and if he did, wondering how they were going to afford yet another trip. He could feel the tubes clogging his throat all over again; hear the incessant beeping of the machines around him. Could see his mother in the bed he belonged in; see as she and not _he_ was provided little comfort or refuge by the sterile white sheets. He was reminded of how she would take his hand and tell him that everything was going to be alright because she had raised him to be strong and independent.

He forced another deep breath through his mouth, fighting the clenching throat muscles and rising nausea. Steve didn't want to think of that, the air around him luckily musty, a stark contrast to the smell of cleaning agents and chloroform and alcohol that haunted the halls of most hospitals. Breathing deeply, he purposely filled his nostrils with the stench of musk and sweat.

Covering his eyes, pressing the palms deeply into the sockets, he did his best to block out the light. There was a hum of deep chatter amongst the inmates, and he let the noises lull him into his head.

Steve missed the forties. He missed the long, angular lines of the cars and the smell of their exhaust. He missed the never ending buzz of life happening on the streets that used to keep him up at night but now pressed him into a warm slumber. He missed his old apartment with its familiar scents of burnt plaster and the sodium bicarbonate from a fire extinguisher that he could never quite get out of the walls and carpet. He missed the food Bucky would either make or bring home for them because Steve was no longer allowed in the kitchen after almost burning their apartment down while trying to make breakfast for an overnight guest he'd invited over. He missed those acquaintances he made and the small amount of friendships he was able to form. He missed Bucky; he missed his ma. He missed Tony.

Jesus.

It had only been a few days, but he missed Tony more than his capacity to express. Being on the other side of that door again just felt so damn wrong. All he wanted to do was scream and cry and basically plead to be let back in, but Tony wanted him out.

Wanted him gone.

So Steve did his best to respect that and not make an utter fool of himself. He couldn't muster the strength, though. To reign himself in from walking the young man to and from his dorm room, because that small bit of contact for those short few minutes made him feel like the world was level again.

Sitting there on that cold, rigid, unforgiving bench, Steve indulged himself. He let himself get lost in the limited amount of memories he had of distractedly watching the way Tony's hands would ever so carefully mend things together in lieu of reading his book. The way the brunette would get this faraway look in his eyes whenever he stumbled upon a breakthrough. How the younger man would start fidgeting, always starting at his legs and then working up to his hands and mouth, whenever a particularly bad batch of boredom or frustration hit. The way Steve was beginning to figure out how to get Tony to smile at him in that open and honest and bright and surprisingly pleased manner. A smile that would actually reach his eyes. Steve could practically hear the headache inducing music on earthquake levels of loud that Tony eventually traded for the Eagles and Neil Diamond and Willie Nelson because he realized Steve enjoyed these softer versions of the Rock and Roll he loved so much. Could feel how Tony never judged him on the way he looked or the things he said, even if he was nowhere near Tony levels of beauty and brain.

Those were just some of the things he missed the most.

Steve quickly let out a noise that sounded similar to that of a wounded animal. The thought struck him hard and fast, like a lightning bolt. How was he supposed to go back to 1942 when it was starting to feel like everything was directing him to stay? There was a loss he was going to have to endure if he went back, but he was beginning to wonder if he could honestly live with that loss.

No, Steve hadn't exactly wanted to take the express route sixty years into the future, but now knowing he had a choice to leave or to stay, he wasn't so sure anymore.

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a large, firm body slump next to his and a tap at his shoulder. Steve tensed, looking up to see that a fairly large man had settled himself next to him. The man looked older than a lot of the other people milling about the room, somewhere in his mid to late forties with tanned, wrinkled skin. A black handlebar mustache braided on either end decorated his upper lip, and the hair on his head was fairly long as well, falling just beneath his chin.

"So, boy," he started, voice deep and rough with a hint of a country accent, but not particularly haughty or unkind. "Some of the fellas wanna know why yer here." He leaned closer to Steve, resting an arm that could give Steve's whole body a run for its money on his leg and resting the other on the opposite hip. "I'm quite curious myself, cause see, no offense, but you don't look much like you could scare a mouse."

Steve looked up at him, head still tilted in a downward angle, and shrugged. "Hit the wrong guy, I guess." He was silent for a moment, recalling the elder Stark shoving Tony to the ground and tearing Dum-E's claw off. "But he fucking deserved it!" Steve snapped, sending a glare towards the man next to him.

The guy chuckled. "No need to give me that look. I didn't do anythin' wrong."

"Then why are you here?" Steve grumbled, settling back in on himself, placing his forearms on his thighs.

"I was tryin' to stop a fight," the man said, eyes twinkling. "They assumed I was tryin' to start one, though. Like you."

Steve frowned, turning more to the man. "If you were stopping it, then why did they arrest you? Didn't you tell them what was going on?"

He smiled. "Course I did, but my skin's just a shade too dark for them to believe me."

Steve squinted at the guy. "You seem awfully calm for someone struggling at the wrong end of racism."

"'The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.' –Martin Luther King Jr.," he quoted. "Plus, I own the bar. I also happened to make the call, and the sheriff knows me pretty well, so he'll get me outta here in a jiffy. If I just keep holdin' my head high and smilin' like I have no problems, then my voice carries more weight. No one wants to listen to a violent, pessimistic man, even if he has every reason to be so, so I choose this as my path and hope that one day things will work out for the better."

Steve shook his head. "The future is a marvel, but you'd think things like blatant racism would be over by now."

Throwing his head back, the man laughed. "You sure would, kid. So tell me, why're you starin' fights with the kinds of people who can put you in here? Don't think I didn't see those tuxed-up, secret service lookin' man standin' out there when the door swung this way and they brought the likes of you in."

"He was hurting my friend," Steve defended, but the heat behind his voice was gone. "I couldn't sit back and watch Tony get hurt like that."

"Tony, eh? So you're fightin' for someone else?"

Steve nodded. "I couldn't sit back and let it happen, and I wish there had been another way for me to-to handle the situation, and maybe there was, but at the time, it seemed like I had no other choice. If I didn't forcefully stop him, then he would've kept on hurting him."

"Just because I think peace is a great answer doesn't mean I think it's always the answer or the right answer for everyone. I'm sure you did what was right by this Tony."

Rubbing his face, Steve slouched farther into his seat, feeling miserable. "I'm not so sure. He probably thinks I should've stayed out of it instead of punching the guy. I probably just made things worse for him."

"Then you learned yourself a valuable lesson. Next time adversity comes knocking, assess the situation with your head before you assess it with your emotions. But I am impressed that a little fella like you wasn't afraid of standin' up for your friend like that."

"I don't like bullies," Steve supplied.

Another laugh shook the bench, and Steve smiled at the guy. "Y'know, kid? You sounds like Captain America. The earlier version, though, when he was still a small schmuck like you."

"A small schmuck? Captain America?" Steve asked, curiosity piqued. Besides the three comics hidden away in Tony's drawer, Steve hadn't read anything else about the superhero. He wanted to buy more comics or ask about him, but something told Steve that Tony wouldn't be too happy with him looking into the past like that. Even if Steve were sure most of the adventures the entertainment business produced were well above exaggerated, it was still a skosh too close to historical accuracy for comfort.

"Sure! Then they super powered him up with this chemical compound us common folk refer to as the super-serum, and boom! Superman in a can. The guy could fight any one of us in here and win; he could actually probably fight all of us together and win," the man chortled merrily.

"He'd probably think your stance on peace and thinking before acting on your emotions would be a better way to go, though," Steve pointed out.

The man grinned. "Captain America taking my advice? That'd be the day."

"He would, though," Steve insisted.

A loud guffaw escaped the guy's mouth, but he said nothing further on the subject. The two fell into a companionable silence, Steve listening as his newest friend chatted on and off with fellow inmates. He wished there was something he could do for the man, and wondered if he'd be pushing his luck if he suggested to Tony that a decent portion of money should be given in support of cause.

Probably.

There was a small commotion just outside the door, and Steve felt the body next to his straighten.

"That'll be my que," he told Steve. "What about you? How're you getting' back to your man tonight?"

Instantly, Steve felt a blush heat his cheeks, and he let out an involuntary cough as he stared wide eyed at his companion. "My man?" he asked in a strangled voice.

The question received him a raised brow. "You have somethin' against that?"

"I- what? No!" Steve backpedaled immediately. "I may be old fashioned," he admitted, finding the slightest amount of glee in his white lie, "but even larger cities, like New York for example, were pretty accepting in the twenties, and while the late 1930's brought back much more conservative values, the introduction of World War II allowed for more leniency. It was a more… don't ask, don't tell type scenario, and people simply looked the other way. So I don't- it's not like I have any sort of problem with homosexuality."

"What's that look, then? Like someone just told you you weren't getting a puppy for Christmas."

Steve let out a huff of laughter. "It's just… Tony is certainly _not_ my fella. He's… too good for the likes of me."

The door opened to reveal an older gentleman in a worn, tan cowboy hat. He had a white beard cut close to his chin and long hair that reached far passed his shoulders to his chest. The mix of grey and white strands were neatly braided on either side of his head, and he approached looking seventy degrees annoyed and disgruntled.

"Sorry 'bout that, Namito," the man said in a raspy voice, approaching the cell with jingling keys in hand.

Namito stood up, waving the chief of police off with a pleasant hand. "Not a problem, Will." He turned back to Steve, holding out his hand for Steve to shake and shook firmly. "Now, lemme tell ya one last thing. Any fella who's gonna bother landin' himself in jail to defend someone else, well, that's a fine and deserving fellow by my standards."

With owlish eyes, Steve watched as the man exited the cell, smiling and shaking the chief's hand. Namito patted the older man roughly on the shoulder, causing him to pitch forward slightly and let out a hearty guffaw. As the two headed for the door, Steve stood up and rushed over to the edge of the bars.

"Wait!" he called, and the two paused at the open door. "What's the name of your bar?"

Namito smiled. "Poe," he said, then walked out, leaving the door to swing shut behind him.

With a huff, Steve made his way back to the corner, placing his cheek so firmly into his palm that the top part of his lip followed the upward movement. Namito raised a good question. How was he going to get out of here? He needed to come up with something, and soon. The quicker he apologized to Tony, the better. Steve didn't need the younger man any more mad at him than he already was.

And then, as if materialized by the mere thought, Tony walked through the door accompanied by the chief as well. Steve watched him, mouth slightly open in surprise, as the brunette pointed him out, and the chief began waving him forward. Steve walked up slowly, keeping his eye on Tony who was seemingly doing his best to look anywhere but him, and Steve felt his stomach sink.

Yup, definitely pissed.

Just as quickly, the three found themselves in the lobby, and Tony looked in the direction of Namito, who was currently collecting his belongings from the front desk.

Tony nodded in the man's direction. "Who's that?" he asked, voice coming out surprisingly rough until he cleared his throat. "By the time I got here, he was already offering to post your bail."

Steve blinked when he realized the words were directed at him and hastily stuttered out an answer in hopes of continuing the conversation. "I- he talked to me in the, uh, the cell. He- I made a friend…" he finished lamely, shrugging his shoulder and rubbing the back of his head.

"He keeps looking at me funny," was all Tony provided before heading for the doors. Steve jogged to catch up, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash, and as he reached the front, Namito made eye contact with him and gave him one last, parting, knowing wink.

The cool night air hitting his face wasn't quite enough to cool the burning beginning to sting his cheeks.

Namito's words continued to play circularly in his head as he eyed Tony's back. It hadn't really occurred to him, having feelings for Tony, but now that the thought was there, he couldn't push it down. In a span of a single conversation, he realized that he definitely had feelings for Tony that overarched their tenuous friendship, which was going to make everything a lot more difficult. See, Steve had never been all that great with the whole flirting with and liking someone thing, and he could barely keep his head straight when he and Tony hadn't even like each other.

To be honest, the whole having feelings for someone had never actually happened to Steve. Sure, he'd had his fair share of one night stands with other men looking to get their rocks off. Like he said, he grew up in the twenties, so when he did come to the conclusion of his sexuality and accepted it, the environment was truly ripe for his exploration and pickings. That exploration didn't change the fact that he'd never been a good flirt, and he never would. Steve had not been gifted with the ability to say the right thing at the right time, and his stuttering remarks left him looking more like a fool than anything else. He was all weak and frail and not the most attractive guy at the bar. It was an honest to God miracle he wasn't a virgin, but, in his favor, countless an occasion where quite a few men had found his lack of flirtations, and a few other things, more endearing than annoying.

However, he'd never truly cared for any of these men.

Of course they had always been kind, and once he figured out what he liked, he always had a good time with them, but neither party ever really put forth an effort to take things further. Just because acceptance had been growing didn't mean dangers didn't lurk in every darkened corner. Any form of loving relationship would only be destroyed by the hate of man.

So how, then, was he supposed to breach every warning bell blaring in his body for many a good reason and tell a young genius that you may be, possibly falling in love with them and maybe, possibly, wanted to stay in the future with them?

Steve couldn't picture a scenario where he didn't get laughed right out of that lab. He could probably kiss friendship goodbye, much less anything else he might want after what happened tonight.

Unbidden, as Steve was so prone to, hope still flared in his chest as he openly scanned Tony from behind. The young man was absolutely breathtaking. He always had been, and Steve could kick himself for taking this long to realize that the stirrings in his chest and stomach weren't chalked up to simple homesickness or nervousness. Maybe if he had realized this sooner, things would have had a better chance at being different.

Maybe not.

Steve was still all awkward and gangly, and the likelihood of Tony Stark picking him out of the lineup was slim to none.

This was someone who deserved the world.

Deserved a person who could give them the world. Who would lasso the moon for them just so they could finally see its dark side and get their hands on moon rocks to study. Someone who was just as handsome and wicked smart as they were. This was someone who deserved a partner who would go to the ends of the Earth just to shout out how lucky they were to have one Tony Stark.

It was only now that Steve was discovering how much he wanted to be that someone, and how much he very well couldn't.

Fantasy and reality were always astonishingly far apart.

"C'mon," Tony interrupted his thoughts softly. "We should stop by the pharmacy this time. Take care of some of those wounds."

Steve nodded his assent, and he wondered if Tony looked at him right now, would he see it? Would he see "Hopeless Moron" written on the crevices of Steve's face? To be fair, Steve had never been in love before, and he wasn't in love now, but he also wasn't sure how far a cry that was from being true. How much longer would it take him to fall in love with Tony now that he had his little epiphany? A day? A week? The rest of the month? There was no guessing. It felt like he was on one end of a seesaw while Tony was on the other, stacking rock on top of rock to see how many would cause Steve to tip over. Steve had no idea how many rocks Tony would pull out in the next minute, much less the next day.

Nonetheless. Steve could see it now. The day would come where he would inevitably fall for the man currently buying gauze and rubbing alcohol and bandages and some sort of salve at the Walgreens checkout counter. It wasn't necessarily a matter of if. It was more a matter of when.

He always had been a hopeless romantic.

They trudged through the campus, Steve feeling his every limb tire step by step. It took a lot out of a person, going to jail and having the bomb of their true feelings dropped on them.

Shivering in the cool air, Steve glanced around the darkened area. Usually green grass was dimmed and tinted with silver touch by the moon. The trees swayed gently in an almost nonexistent breeze, standing immobile and on guard. The pale grey stone of the school became even whiter, their shadows laying across lawn and courtyard, blocking wispy moonbeams. It reminded Steve of an archaic castle that provided setting for stories long told.

And if he looked closely enough, those same silver beams would kiss their way across the smooth lines of Tony's skin and hair, giving him an ethereal glow. The moon lit up every strand of hair and caught every movement upon his skin, making him shimmer as he walked just out of Steve's reach. It was almost like Tony were holding the moon in his palms at the center of his chest, casting a silver fade of light to outline his whole body.

It was a sight Steve knew he was going to draw obsessively over and over again because he'd never get it right, but damn was he going to try.

Tony led him to the bathrooms and directed Steve to sit on the counter silently. He looked towards the showers longingly. This night had worn its welcome, leaving him tired and ragged. All he thought he could do at this point was get some much needed rest and deal with his little issue in the morning with a clear head. Like Namito said, he needed to start thinking with his brain and not his heart.

Steve relaxed farther into the counter as Tony quietly dug through the plastic bag, slumping his back against the counter and closing his eyes. They snapped back open when he felt the younger man wedge himself between Steve's spread thighs, and for the first time in what felt like a really, _really_ long time, Steve was staring into earthy brown eyes. _They have such an independent tendency to always change color,_ he thought to himself absently, finding himself transfixed. For a flash of a second, it looked like Tony was searching for something.

A bit of gauze that had the strongest aroma of rubbing alcohol came towards him, and Steve leaned forward heavily. The dabs stung, but Tony held gentle hand as he examined the wounds on Steve's face.

"You took one hell of a beating," Tony whispered. Steve could see a redness around his eyes that wasn't characteristic of the charismatic man he knew.

"How's Dum-E?" he asked softly. It had been a rough night, and more so for Tony than for him, Steve was sure.

Tony took a long blink and even longer breath before resuming cleaning Steve of blood and grime. "He'll be fine. Just, ah, just a few simple repairs, really." There was an extended pause as Steve watched Tony steel himself. "You punched my father," he said, voice blank. Careful.

Blue eyes snapped back to brown. "I- yeah," Steve sighed, body folding forward more as the fight began to leave his body. God, he felt so drained. "I'm sorry, y'know, about that."

"Why?"

"Because he's you dad, and I shouldn't have gotten involved."

Shaking his head, Tony's hand paused midair between them. "No, I mean why did you hit him? Why would you do that? Look at you; at what happened because of it."

Steve stared at him incredulously. "What do you mean? He was hurting you."

"Why else?" Tony demanded, something fierce in his voice; in his _gaze_. "Why did you really hit him? Did he say something to you when he was outside? Before he got into the lab?"

Shaking his head, Steve grabbed Tony's wrist, setting it gently on his thigh. "There _is_ no other reason. I hit him to save _you_ ," he told the brunette softly.

Tony swayed his head back and forth, back and forth. "I wasn't in any danger. I would've been fine. I don't understand why-"

"Because," Steve interrupted gently, "while I know you can handle yourself, you still merit having someone stand up for you. Fight for you. I don't like seeing you hurt."

And before Steve could react, a hand found the back of his neck and was pulling him forward in a crash of lips and teeth that left his head spinning. He wished he could say that his first instinct was to pull Tony closer and better guide him and deepen the kiss, but his lip still stung from the beating it took earlier, and, in his defense, he was probably in shock from this little turn of events. So, instead of doing any of those things, he let out an involuntary hiss of pain, and Tony jumped back immediately, nervous energy flooding the room like a tsunami.

"I- sorry. I don't- I don't know what I was thinking. No, I wasn't thinking; that's what it was. It's been a-a hard night, and I'm tired. What, with Howard and then jail. It's just been a rough few hours. Plus, lack of sleep doesn't help. We'll just, ah, just forget the whole thing, okay? It didn't mean anything, really. I promise. You don't have to-"

"Tony," Steve began cautiously, interrupting the mile-a-minute babbling. As Tony talked, he had inched further and further away, hands coming up in a placating form of surrender. He looked wild and scared, like a rabbit in a bear trap. Steve rubbed at the split in his lip lightly, but it was something that would heal. Something that could easily be ignored. "C'mere," he gestured, hand coming out in front of him, a clear invitation for Tony to take. The younger man still seemed hesitant and upset, but he took the outstretched hand nonetheless, allowing Steve to pull him back between his legs with ease and care.

"Steve-" he tried again in a hoarse voice, eyes brimming slightly.

"Try it like this." Steve took his hand from Tony's, sliding it up his arm and neck to position itself on one side of Tony's cheek, his other hand coming up to caress the opposite side. He guided Tony's lips back to his, and ever so delicately, began the kiss anew.

This was a tender, deliberate press of lips and purposeful movement. Steve took his time, Tony pliable and inexperienced beneath him. At first, calloused hands rested cautiously on his arms, but as Steve continued, showing no sign of stopping, Tony's hands travelled up to wrap loosely around his neck. Steve's own hands eventually moved down to rest on Tony's slim hips, forcefully pulling him closer, holding him tighter, and, just as Steve wanted, Tony tightened his own grip on Steve's neck.

Eventually, Tony pulled away with a pop, sucking in a much needed breath. Steve kept his grip tight as he rested his forehead lightly against the shorter man's, breaths coming out heavily as well.

Steve hoped with all his might that tonight was not just some concussion induced dream.

"Steve?" His name was voiced with hesitance and question. He opened his eyes to find Tony's already staring back into his, once again searching for something. What, Steve still wasn't sure.

"Go on a date with me," he blurted in hopes that it would be answer enough.

"I-"

"I've missed you like crazy these past few days," Steve admitted, moving his hands to wrap his arms around Tony's lower back and pulled him into a tight hug. "I didn't realize why until now. I know I've already asked too many of you, but can you give me another chance?"

Like a coil being released, Tony practically fell against him, arms tightening around his neck. A head was buried into the crook of Steve's neck, and he closed his eyes. He could only feel a soft nodding and the whispered okay against his skin.

If this was a dream, Steve really didn't want to wake up.

* * *

 **Notes:**

"Let's rock everybody, let's rock  
Everybody in the whole cell block  
Was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!"

Welp, here it is! I know this chapter a little cheesey, but I hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless.

A shout out and thank you to my lovely beta, Cray Queen of Angst, and the next chapter will be released 28 March 2019. And feel free to check out my Tumblr any time for updates and sneak peaks! :D


	11. The Double Edged Sword

_Chapter Eleven: The Double Edged Sword_

Early morning light gleamed pleasantly through the open window, a cool breeze greeting the room with whispered, "Good morning." Tony opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the unearthly brightness, a frown forming in his forehead only to mat his lips a few moments later. Least to say, he was not a morning person, and no amount of open windows, smiling suns, and chirping birds was going to change that. Tony had hated mornings since the day he was born, and he was going to continue to hate mornings until the day he died. Watch and see.

Letting out a disgruntled purr and scrunching up his nose, Tony dug his head deeper into the thing currently working as a makeshift pillow. It was a fairly shitty pillow, in his opinion. The thing was poky and spindly with not enough cushion. It smelled like the Old Spice Captain scent. There was a constant ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump in his ear. Oh, and it constantly moved up and down without break or pause.

See? Shitty pillow.

However, the person making up said pillow made the uncomfortableness worth it.

Tony's hand grasped Steve's white V-neck sleep shirt, wrinkling the smooth material in the palm of his hand. He swore that if he didn't grab on to something, he was going to fall right out of the twin bed they were currently occupying. His ass was less than an inch away from the edge, and it had no desire of meeting the ground so early in the morning.

Eyes fell shut softly, but whatever it was that had woken him up set the day in motion. There was no going back to sleep now.

Opening his eyes back up, Tony gave them time to dilate and adjust to the new light settings. Using one arm to hoist himself up onto his elbow, he leaned forward to the nightstand and picked up the newest addition to his technology family. As heathenous as it was, he held a charcoal grey Mio Polaroid camera that dimly reflected the light in its matte paint. It really was a very pretty piece of technology, but a part of him couldn't help but long to rip it apart, see how it ticked, and make a better version. He just didn't have time to make a much more gorgeous, much more functional one. As he said, heathenous.

Laying back down, Tony rested his head on Steve's shoulder, holding the camera out with one hand and grabbing Steve's hand in the other, bringing it to his lips. Kissing the back of Steve's hand gently, his fingers pressed the button down in a firm _click!_ and the flash went off.

Damn. He'd forgotten about that.

Beneath him, Tony felt Steve begin to stir, and he brought the camera down, pulling out the picture and waving it back and forth. The hand he had been holding went up to rub the sleep from Steve's face, the other wrapping itself beneath Tony's lower back and gripping at his hip.

"What're you doin'?" Steve slurred with a yawn.

Craning his head up, Tony kissed the underside of Steve's jaw. "Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Steve groaned, other arm wrapping itself around Tony's torso in an awkward hug. "What was that?"

"The flash?" Tony asked innocently, and Steve harrumphed his agreeance. "Oh, nothing, nothing. Just a picture." And then he was moving, disentangling himself from Steve's arms and throwing one leg over Steve's waist, straddling his lap. Automatically, the older man's hands were on his hips, holding Tony steady as morning sky blue eyes stared up at him. "And what a cute picture it is," Tony hummed softly, leaning down to capture Steve's mouth in a kiss.

It was nice. _This_ was nice. The kissing and snuggling and having someone to lie in bed with. He hadn't ever had this before, and everything about this was so far out of Tony's element, but it was _good_. Him and Steve, it hadn't been something he'd allowed himself to imagine that he would get, even when the man crash landed into the future. In fact, the idea of them seemed more impossible than it had when Tony was simply reading and daydreaming about a Captain America from his comic books and posters.

Funny how life worked out sometimes.

Pulling back quickly, Tony practically bounced with excitement as he turned the picture to show Steve. "See? Cute."

The man in question frowned and sighed in response, eyeing the picture with distaste. "Well, one of us is."

"Yeah," Tony chirped, rolling his eyes and leaning back to the nightstand to rummage through the drawer. "The one sleeping." And, to punctuate the statement, Tony pulled out a pin and pinned the picture up to the blank dorm room wall. Leaning back, he folded his arms and admired his handy work. "Look, now I finally have something on here."

"Mmm, the first of many."

Tony snorted, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "Like we have time."

"We cou-" Tony wriggled back even more, and evil smile coming to his face when he felt something poke at his tailbone. Steve's hands gripped him even tighter, forcing his movements to a stop. "Tony," he warned.

"What?!" Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms out. "We totally could, y'know. Rhodey's gone and you seem more than willing."

Steve sighed, shifting Tony off to the side and rolling out of bed. "We've talked about this, Tony. You're only seventeen."

"Yes, but you have my full, conscience consent," Tony argued, sitting back on the bed and watching as Steve stretched, making his way to the stack of smelly running clothes piled in the corner.

"Doesn't matter," Steve told him, pulling off his sleep shirt and pulling on the running shirt. "You're still underage, something I already feel guilty for. Maybe we're… I dunno, moving a little fast?"

Tony frowned, crossing his arms and sending Steve a glare. "What do you even mean? All we've done is sleep together. _Lit-er-all-ey_."

"Still," Steve gave him a pointed looking, pulling on the rest of his clothing. He walked back over to Tony, who made his way to the edge of his bed. Leaning down, Steve kissed him lightly on the forehead. "I'll be back."

Tony grumbled under his breath before calling out to Steve as he opened the door. "Don't forget that we're meeting Rhodey and Pepper at Shake Shack for lunch today for my pre-birthday celebration."

"I'll be back before then," Steve promised, stepping out.

"Hey!" Tony yelled just as the door was about to close, and Steve's head poked back in looking adorably exasperated. "You still owe me a hot fudge cookie dough shake."

"For which I will use your money to pay for all on my own," Steve told him before pulling his head out and firmly closing the door.

Grumbling incoherent mutters, Tony laid back on the bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Eyes wandering, he glared at the picture of Steve, feeling guilt lace his body like a sweet red wine. He'd finished the laser a week ago, and the energy storage system had enough juice to power the entire solar system for a day – something he could definitely look farther into later on. But it was time. Steve could go back to 1942 whenever he wanted. That was his home, where he belonged; Steve was needed there. It's just… Tony wanted two more days. Selfish, yes, but he just wanted to have Steve for a little while longer.

Tony would tell him. He would…

After his birthday.

It was infuriating because all Tony needed was a little more time. Time to keep Steve and get to know him and tell him everything and be told everything. To make this into that kind of something that other people dreamed of and hoped for because Steve was special and being with Steve was special. Tony knew he and Steve could get there if given the chance. He could practically hear the "I love you's" and talks about moving in together and getting married and all that disgustingly sappy bullshit he didn't used to want. He just wanted more time.

Ironically, the time machine did not give him that.

O_o

The smells of wonderfully fried food wafted through the air, and Tony let himself take a deep breath in. It almost made up for the uncomfortable, cool white porcelain of the booth he was sitting in. Leaning back farther into the booth and the red vinyl cushion behind him, he smiled up at Steve as the warmth he provided left Tony's side. In return, Steve rolled those gorgeous blue eyes, but couldn't seem to keep his own lips from quirking up.

"Thank you!" Tony called behind him as Steve made his way back to the counter of the practically empty restaurant.

Tony flipped back around when he heard Rhodey mutter, "You two are disgusting." How he managed to be both jokingly amused and deadly serious at the same time, Tony would never know. All he knew was that the next words weren't a surprise. "Aren't you two, I dunno, Tones. Moving a little fast?"

Pepper elbowed her boyfriend, frowning at him slightly with a shake of her head so minute that Tony almost didn't catch it. "I think it's cute," she directed to him, taking her eyes off Rhodey after their silent argument. Giving Tony a quick smile, she turned back to searching in her purse before eventually letting out a sigh. "I'm just gonna run to the restroom real quick."

Silently, they watched her go until she disappeared into the small hallway with the black restroom sign screwed to the white, tiled wall. When Rhodey looked back at him, Tony narrowed his eyes slightly and tilted his head.

"You think Steve and I are moving too fast?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light and innocent and not at all accusatory.

His best friend raised his chin and folded his arms. "Yes. Ever since he asked you out, the two of you have been attached at the hip. For Christ's sake! Just last week you skipped out on our scheduled video game day to go to a fair with him. A _fair._ You know I love you Tones; I'm just worried, is all. You hate clowns." Tony snorted, and Rhodey gave him a small smile, relaxing his still posture.

Glancing behind him, Tony checked to make sure Steve was still a safe distance away. Luckily, the man seemed to have gotten distracted from his mission of getting Tony more ketchup and was currently examining the quarter prize machines.

Turning back around, he leaned forward as he met Rhodey's eyes. "If I tell you something, will you promise me that you won't tell another soul? Not even Pepper?"

The man in front of him tensed again, and Tony had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as Rhodey's eyes found Steve and began glaring him down. "What'd he do?" he practically growled.

At that, Tony did roll his eyes, waving off Rhodey's look of concern. "Down, boy. He's fine. I'm fine. We're both fine, but I need to tell you something. So do you _swear_ , Sugar Bear, on your _life_ that you won't tell anyone else anything I'm about to tell you?"

Easing himself back, Rhodey continued to glance threateningly at Steve. He nodded, and Tony could see the clenching and unclenching of his jaw. Taking a deep breath, Tony began talking. "Okay, so here's the thing. Steve, my Steve, is actually _the_ Steve. As in, Steve Rogers. A.K.A. Captain America. He kind of travelled here at the beginning of summer and bumped into me – remember that? The party? So anyway, I promised to build him a time machine to get him back home, which I kind of finished, which also means he kinda has to leave soon. And, as you know, tomorrow is my birthday. My _eighteenth_ birthday, Honey Bun.

"So here's where I need your help in brainstorming." He finally paused to take a breath but just as quickly continued as Rhodey stared at him wide eyed, open mouthed. "I should totally lose my virginity to Captain America, right?"

The man in front of him said nothing, continuing to stare at him, so Tony tried again.

"I mean, that would be the coolest loss of virginity story _ever_. Even if no one will believe me. And I know, I know. You wanna make sure I'm okay and the feelings thing is, y'know, solid between us, but we've been dating for three weeks, and don't think I haven't asked him about it already. He keeps saying no because I'm too young, so you got the morals thing there, too. Seriously, some people just sleep with each other on the first date, like you and Pepper. No offence. So while you may think it's too soon, I might have to disagree because of all _that_ ," he said, waving his hands in Rhodey's general direction.

Still nothing, and Tony moved forward even more, leaning his elbow on the table and feeling it mash uncomfortably against the hard surface. His other hand waved back in forth in front of Rhodey's blank gaze. "Hello? C'mon, Sugar Snap. I really, _really_ need you to answer so I know that you're jealous that I get to lose my virginity to Captain America."

Rhodey's eyes finally blinked back to him and his mouth moved up and down as if attempting and failing to form words. He seemed to settle on: "He- I- Steve's Captain America?"

"Yes," Tony sighed exasperatedly, sitting back down. "We've already been over that part. Can we please focus on that last bit because Steve's gonna be back any minute."

A frown formed on Rhodey's face, and he placed his elbow on the table, pointing a finger at Tony. "You're yanking my chain right now; you're messing with me."

Shaking his head, Tony sighed. "No, Honey Bunches of Oats. And here I thought you knew me. Would I ever _make up_ such a bullshit story? No. Now please! Help meee. Remember? My virginity? That part. Focus on that part."

" _That's_ Captain America?" Rhodey turned his hand to point towards Steve who was, as Tony had suspected, finally making his way back towards the table. "And you're telling me he time travelled here? Seriously."

Tony pouted, folding his arms and slumping back into the booth with a huff. "Seriously," he droned as Steve sidled next to him. Under his breath, Tony grumbled loud enough for his completely useless best friend to hear: "Fine, focus on the unimportant part of the story. No help at all. Jackass."

Steve looked between him and the still gaping Rhodey who wan currently examining Steve like he was some exhibit at a body farm – don't ask about it. It's in everyone's best interest to simply ignore the fact that he and Rhodey had taken a trip to a body farm on one memorable occasion to help Rhodey pass the Forensic Science class he had been taking. If you don't know what a body farm is, _don't_ look it up. Tony still had nightmares.

"Uhh," Steve started. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Tony snapped, sticking his tongue out at Rhodey right as Pepper reached her seat as well. "But we should go," he insisted, basically shoving Steve from the booth again.

The blond stared at him in utter confusion, and Tony packed their food into their bag. "But we haven't even eaten, Tony. I just got your ketchup."

"We'll take it to the park," Tony demanded, once again unceremoniously pushing at Steve to get him to go towards the doors. "Some people refuse to be helpful!" he shouted over his shoulder.

O_o

Night came much too quickly. It was almost as if as soon as Tony realized how little time he had left with Steve, the little shit decided to speed up like some broken down speedometer. It was absolutely infuriating.

As the two got ready for bed, Steve smiled softly at him, and Tony's stomach did that flip-floppy thing in his abdomen. He wondered if Steve would be down for staying up all night two nights in a row. Probably not.

Settling on the twin mattress next to Steve, automatically being pulled onto the older man's chest, Tony watched as the blond fell asleep. He felt the rise and fall of Steve's breaths even out and slow down. Heard the beat of heart slow. Felt the hand and arm around him go slack. And when all the signs of sleep fell into place, Tony moved.

As stealthily as he could, Tony untangled himself from Steve's arms and crept out of the bed. Pulling on a robe and sliding his feet into the fluffy, fuzzy slippers Pepper and Rhodey had gotten him as an early birthday gift, Tony pushed the door open and slid out.

The walk to the lab was quick, a trail of darkened grass following him in marked path.

It felt akin to a secret, him leaving Steve in the middle of the night and coming here. Like it was something he wasn't really supposed to do, yet when he opened the door to the lab, shutting it firmly behind him, he felt himself slump against the door and let out a breath of air. This felt like both a relief and a strain.

"Are you alright, Sir?" J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice came through the darkness, and Tony covered his face in his hands, crouching down on the cold tile floor.

"Does it always feel like this?" Tony asked, and he didn't expect a real answer, not one that could help him, but sometimes it helped, the talking. Even if it was to himself.

"Does what feel a certain way?"

Tony paused, taking his hands from his face and falling back until his butt met the floor. Staring intently at the patterns on the tile, he began counting the dark grey spots of gradient in the white. One, two, three, four, five… "Being with someone. L… liking them. Is it supposed to feel like this?"

"Like what, Sir?"

He sighed. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. "Like, all confusing and conflicting and stuff."

J.A.R.V.I.S. was silent for a moment, and Tony supposed he was most likely trying to research through whatever the internet had to offer, but Tony didn't want that. He didn't want advice from some guy in New Jersey who had never had a girlfriend and whose current profession was video gaming in his mother's basement. What he really wanted to do was ask Steve about it. To ask Rhodey about it. To ask Pepper about it. Because they knew why he would be feeling awkward being in a relationship he wanted more than anything.

"I don't believe there is much I can offer as to an answer to this, Sir. It is beyond my parameters, and while I've been designed and programmed to serve you in any way that I can, I cannot tell you the answer to this because I do not know it myself. I have not yet collected enough data on you and your mannerisms to tell if this is the proper reaction for you."

That made Tony smile, staring up at the ceiling and eyeing one of the matte, grey speakers cutting out a circle in the white, foam panels. "I guess that's something you'll learn with time."

"As will you," J.A.R.V.I.S. said, and despite his lack of face, Tony could have sworn he heard a fond smile in the A.I.'s voice.

Picking himself up off the floor, Tony made his way over to his workbench, making an offhand comment about testing the time machine again and snagging one of the apples Steve had brought him a few days ago. And that's how he spent a better part of his night: cutting paper thin slices of the apple and sending it a few minutes into the future and catching it mid-air to bring to his mouth and eat. Tony wasn't the biggest fan of apples for health reasons – he was on a sole junk food and fast food diet, thank you very much – but they were far more appealing when they were time-travelling apples; he did like his men like he liked his apples.

Every so often, he found himself looking towards Steve's corner, words of excitement on the tip of his tongue from a nice catch or beautiful throw, only to remember that he was alone. There was no one to enjoy this with, something that never used to bother him, but all he wanted right now was to look up and see Steve with that smile on his face. The smile that meant he was impressed with Tony, that he was proud of him, that Steve somehow wanted to be nowhere else but right there. No one else had ever wanted to just… be there. But Steve did.

And shit. That… that definitely meant something. Something like…

Shaking his head of the niggling emotion in the back of his mind, Tony looked at the clock on his computer. Just passed midnight.

As if on cue, the door to the lab opened softly, and he looked up to see a familiar silhouette making its way towards him in the darkness.

"Something wrong?" Steve's voice carried, reaching him almost as soon as the man himself did. Tony instantly felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist, and he couldn't help sinking back into the warmth.

"No," he sighed contentedly, lips quirking. "Couldn't sleep, so I thought I might as well tinker."

"Mmm," Steve hummed, nuzzling into the back of Tony's neck.

It was in that moment that Tony knew, without a doubt, what he wanted to do. Telling Rhodey was one thing. That… _that_ had the appeal of the shock factor, which was his favorite factor to pull on Rhodey. But something tugged deep in his gut, climbing its way to his stomach, making it clench up with tingles. Then it made its way up to his chest, and he felt his heart involuntarily speed up, beating on his ribcage like a drum. It reached the bottom of his throat, right where his collar bones met, and a lump formed that he was having difficulty swallowing around. As it crawled its way onto Tony's tongue, blood began rushing to his ears, and he was just able to hear Steve whisper, "Happy birthday, by the way," over the roar of the crashing waves of the ocean.

He almost didn't let the man finish as he turned forcefully in Steve's arms and pulled the blond closer to himself, yanking at the back of his neck so their lips would meet in a wet, messy kiss. Steve harrumphed into Tony's mouth, but he got with the program fairly quickly and pulled Tony closer, sliding his arms firmly over Tony's lower back. The blanket Steve had come in with dropped from his shoulders, curling up on the floor just behind his feet.

Pulling back with a smack, Tony looked deeply into Steve's eyes. In this light, they were almost cobalt. A steady storm raging over rocky seas.

"Have sex with me," Tony blurted with his rapid exhale. The arms at his back loosened immediately, and he felt the tug of Steve pulling back at his fingertips. He gripped tighter as he watched Steve open his mouth with a ready response, but Tony bulldozed on. "Please," he begged, and his voice already sounded wrecked. He hadn't known how much he really needed this until the moment came, and he did. He needed it more than he needed air. No, right now, at this moment, Tony needed this more than he needed to be an engineer. The tingling of his limbs strengthened at the thought of this. Of them. This was what he needed, wanted, more than anything. Just now. Just this once. And then. Then he could let go. He would be strong enough to let it go.

But Tony had always been a selfish person. So he was going to take. He was going to take everything that Steve was willing to give him while he still could, damn the consequences. Damn the world and its ideologies on homosexuality. Damn his father and the reputation he needed to keep in order to run that shit-show of a company. Damn these mixed feelings in his own head.

He was Tony Fucking Stark, and there was only going to be one time he could lose his virginity, and this was going to be it. It was going to be with someone who might actually give two shits about him, something he wasn't sure he was going to be graced with again. So while he had this chance, whether it was too fast or not, Tony was going to give Steve Rogers everything he could possibly give. Tony had given Steve a place to sleep, food, a nook, and art station. Now he wanted to give Steve one last thing: himself.

And Tony wanted to give that to Steven Grant Rogers. Not Captain America. Not some comic book hero. Steve. Tony wanted to give that to Steve.

"Please," he whispered again, voice coming out hoarse and needy and desperate, but Tony didn't care.

Steve's grip did funny things as his arms unwound from Tony's waist and clenched and unclenched at his obliques. "I- Tony- you… you're-"

"Eighteen," he finished. "I'm eighteen now, and I'm more than smart enough to make my own decisions; I have been for a while now, Steve. I- let me- let me do this for you."

The larger man instantly shook his head vehemently back and forth. "Tony, no. I don't want you to do anything for me. You-you _literally_ just turned eighteen. I'm almost ten years older than you. Maybe we should slow down. I don't… I promise, Tony, all I want is this. You, and nothing else."

"Then let me give you that," Tony argued, fire raging in his voice, in his eyes. _Fire and ice_ , he thought. _Fire always wins._ "I _want_ to do that. This. I want- I need you to do this for _me_ , Steve. I want to do it for you, but I need you to do it for me."

"Why? Why can't we wait?" Steve asked.

Tony frowned at him, looking up into those eyes. The eyes that could tell stories all by themselves. "Do you not want to?"

The grip tightened again. "Of _course_ I want to. You're gorgeous, Tony. But you've never… I mean, I'm assuming you've never. And you're still so young, and this isn't a decision you make in the heat of a moment. You need to be sure and ready. _I_ need you to be sure and ready."

"But I am," Tony insisted. "I didn't… this wasn't something I decided just now, Steve. I've _been_ thinking about it. I've thought about it probably before we even started dating. I'm done thinking. It's you, Steve. It's always going to be you. I don't want to wait anymore."

Steve was quiet for a moment, eyes searching Tony's, probably looking for uncertainty. For hesitation. But there was none. Tony had none to give. Maybe in the morning he would; maybe when he remembered that Steve was leaving. Maybe then all that conflict and indecision would come back like a summer storm. But not about this. Never about this. Tony knew in his bones, the way he knew about going to M.I.T., about becoming an engineer and inventor, about meeting Rhodey and Pepper, about creating J.A.R.V.I.S., that he wasn't ever going to regret this.

There may be times in the future where he would daydream and wish they could have done it a few months later. Possibly in a big bed after a fancy night out, or in a new apartment they would buy together in California where Steve could see the ocean right from their bedroom window because he'd never seen the sea before. And they would spend the day moving their stuff in and beginning to unpack, and they would set the bed up and make love to the view of the beach and the sounds of the waves. It could've happened after they'd both gotten tested for S.T.D.'s and didn't have to worry about HIV/AIDS, and they could really feel one another. It could've happened after he knew every nook and cranny that was Steve Rogers. Knew exactly what made him tick, like his greatest hopes and his worst fears. Met all of his family and friends through stories, good and bad. When he could tell it was Steve coming home just by the sounds of his steps and jingling of his keys. And Steve would know everything about him in return.

Tomorrow morning, Tony might wish that.

But he would know, like he always did, that none of that had ever been an option. That none of that really mattered because this was it. And as far as real life went, this was perfect. It would always be perfect. A memory cherished above all others that he would keep locked away in the recesses of his mind where no one, not even himself, could tarnish it, and waking up tomorrow with the wish that they'd simply had more time wasn't going to change that.

So no, there was no hesitancy.

So Steve let the cards fall where they may. Let them flutter with a parachuting whoosh exactly where they were supposed to land.

"If you're sure," he said.

"I am," Tony insisted, pulling Steve back towards him and walking them back in the direction of Steve's nook. "I am," he repeated against the taller man's mouth.

When Tony's back hit the countertop, Steve pulled away again, and Tony let out a whine of displeasure. However, this time, Steve only gave him a soft smile, shaking his head. "Maybe we should do this somewhere else. Like a bed," he suggested.

Tony wrinkled his nose, looking up at Steve. "Bed's not gonna be better than this. Plus, I like your corner, and I like my lab, so just… c'mon," he insisted, grabbing at the bottom of his shirt and beginning to yank it over his head, but Steve stopped him, preventing the shirt from getting much farther than his belly button.

"Slow down, Tony," Steve murmured, pushing Tony's hands out of the way to take the shirt himself. "Breath, okay? There's no rush. Let me do this for you too?" he asked, peeling the shirt off Tony slowly, watching him intently. Tony nodded slowly, silently, gaze entrapped by Steve's.

For the first time in weeks, the downward counting clock lagged. Sluggishly, Tony raised his arms, feeling his heart somehow speed up and stop for an infinite amount of beats all at the same time. Their eyes remained locked until the older man lifted his shirt above and over his head, and then his vision was clear once again as Steve tossed the piece of fabric aside carelessly, hands taking its place in covering Tony's skin.

The first skin on skin contact at his bare sides was akin to lying in sun drenched sand. Steve's hands felt rough to novice nerve endings, but they were warm and all-encompassing and safe. He mostly just heard himself gasp, hearing the noise like it was coming into water-logged ears. His vision tunneled so far beneath the Earth's crust he could only comprehend the blackness that surrounded him. All of his organs and tissues and cells seemed to have stopped doing their jobs the second Steve's hands were on him. It was like the world was in suspension. If he didn't take a breath soon, he was going to suffocate.

Steve stepped impossibly closer, clothed chest scraping against Tony's bare one, hands holding slim hips, and Tony's arms settled around Steve neck to help keep himself upright, encouraging the decreasing space. The older man burrowed his head in the crook of Tony's neck and shoulder, and Tony could feel soft hairs brushing just beneath his jaw and earlobe. A nose traced lazily along his skin, warm puffs of breath defrosting it. Hands moved so arms could replace them, pulling Tony into another hug so hearts beat fervently against one another.

Head lolling to the side, Tony gasped when he felt Steve' tongue dart out and lick an unflinching stripe from his collarbone to just beneath his ear. Snapping his head back, Tony grabbed the back of Steve's neck to pull his lips down into a fierce, searing kiss. The blond's arms left him, and he felt Steve pull back for a moment. Tony opened his eyes just in time to see Steve yanking his ratty, old pajama shirt over his head.

Tony had been right all those weeks ago. Steve had definitely filled out some due to all that running and working out with Rhodey. Slight muscle was building around his biceps and pectorals, defining the shapes a little more than they used to. If Tony looked close enough, he could see the faint outlines of a six pack beginning to form. Ah, the modern miracles of proper food intake and inhalers.

Taking a step forward, Steve cupped Tony's cheek, and brown flashed up to meet blue. He felt a dopey smile come across his face, and Tony thought that this kind of drunk beat that of alcohol any day. Steve smiled back, all soft and relaxed, but still controlled. A smile that promised Tony could lose his mind in the next few minutes, and he would be completely taken care of.

It was a nice smile.

Closing his eyes, Tony grabbed Steve's hand in his own, leaning into it and turning his head slightly to kiss the palm. Then he let go and yanked down his bottoms before he chickened out. The palm on his cheek trailed down his neck and back, stopping at the curve of his butt and yanking him forward, causing him to stumble into Steve's chest, their mouths catching in another kiss. The fingers of Steve's other hand played deviously with the hem of Tony's boxers. In response, Tony let himself take hold of Steve's pants and pull them down in a swift, insistent movement.

As they pooled around Steve's ankles, the blond stepped out of them, leading Tony back towards the counter until it once again pressed firmly into his lower back. Grasping at the edge, Tony hopped up, spreading his thighs to let Steve settle comfortably between them as their mouths continued their dance.

Then Steve's thumb dipped beneath the stretchy waistband, lightly brushing coarse hairs. Tony pulled back as if burned – and maybe he truly had been – throwing his head back to rest against the cool window at the promise of a touch. He choked out a sobbing, "Steve!" feeling the plastic blinds digging roughly into his scalp, but Tony couldn't care less.

"Shh, alright, okay," Steve soothed. "Lay down, back against the pillows and cushions, alright?"

Tony pulled himself the rest of the way onto the wide counter, missing Steve's warmth as the window seeped cool air into the lab, but reposed against the cushions anyway. He really had made a comfortable nook. There was a small cushion that had been laid atop the counter perfectly, providing a small amount of padding for Steve to sit and lay on while he read. The massive amounts of pillows provided the perfect wall between hard surface and body. It was complete with all the furnishings, and could give decent competition to his actual bed.

He felt the edge of the foam cushion press down, and he propped his head up to watch as Steve kneeled between his spread legs.

"Beautiful," Steve breathed, and Tony felt an intense heat form on his cheekbones. Steve's hands were, just as Tony had hoped, back on him, returning the warmth the window had stolen. Fingers brushed roughly over his nipples, and Tony felt himself jump as a gasp was wrenched from his throat. His cock jumped at the touch, a rush of blood bursting downward. Steve's hands followed, caressing his ribcage, stomach, and then stopping as they reached their last barrier. Silently, Tony lifted his hips in permission, feeling fingers hook and drag the last of his clothing away.

It was… weird, being this exposed to someone. He had changed in locker rooms before, and the shower in the building was pretty communal, but this was different. This was someone looking at _him_. Looking only at him with single-minded focus, examining him. Possessing him.

Tony shivered.

He heard rather than saw Steve shuck off his own boxers, and he had a brief thought of something like, _What a shame_ , but then that body was on him, and it wasn't such a shame anymore.

Steve's hands pressed on either side of Tony's ribs, and he lowered himself to pull Tony into a sloppy kiss, which also had the effect of their cocks rubbing together in a sticky slide. Cutting the kiss off with a sharp inhale, Tony arched into the newest of sensations, wanting more but not quite sure how to ask for it.

Bringing his nose back to Tony's neck, Steve began placing butterfly kisses along the stretched tendons and collarbones. "How do you want to do this?" he asked, voice coming out husky and rough.

Rolling his head side to side, Tony wasn't sure how to answer. How could you tell someone what you wanted when you weren't really sure of that yourself? Sure, he knew about the birds and the bees, and he hadn't _just_ learned sex terms via Google articles, and he had one hell of an idea before Steve caused his blood pressure to spike and his entire body to malfunction. Jesus, Tony had always prided himself in his genius, and now he couldn't even formulate a single thought. His mind was blank. Decidedly and deliciously blank.

"I want- I want…" he stammered, but there was no end for him to reach. No specific goal in mind. He wanted Steve. That was it. "You," he finished, giving up.

Letting out a chuckle, Steve pushed himself up, making Tony whine at the loss of heat and friction. The older man soothed him, smiling down at Tony with bright eyes. "I need lube and condoms. Do you have those in here?"

The cool air rushed into Tony's breath, clearing his mind long enough for him to lean up on his elbows and nod to Steve as the man climbed off the countertop. "The- it's in the middle drawer. The drawer beneath the blueprints."

"Expecting to get lucky?" Steve asked with a laugh, bending over to rustle through the contents in the drawer. This time, Tony did let his eyes drink in the vision before him, and Steve did not disappoint. God, he loved running. Not for himself! No. But boy did it do wonders for Steve. Tony watched with an awed appreciation for the concave dimples forming on either side of Steve's ass as the muscles worked, and the man's thighs were nicely rounded out with sturdy mass. Tony may now have a thing for runners. Well, Steve being a runner. He had a thing for _Steve_ being a runner.

"With the way things are turning out, I'm thinking I wasn't on the _wrong_ track," he quipped.

Standing up, Steve turned around with a bemused smile and made his way back to Tony. Setting the lube and one golden condom packet next to Tony's feet, Steve squatted in front of Tony's face, bringing their heads level. Tony turned onto his side, pillowing his head in the curve of his elbow. "Feeling coherent?" Steve questioned softly, reaching a hand out to rub his thumb over the wrinkle in Tony's forehead.

"Mmm," Tony hummed, closing his eyes. "You were gone for too long. Distractions don't work if you leave in the middle of them."

"I'm sorry. Next time I'll be sure to have everything stored somewhere far more convenient for you," Steve snarked.

"Thank you," Tony nodded, opening his eye to catch Steve rolling his own and grinning at him. The smile softened slightly, and the pressure of Steve's thumb caused his body to sink further into the mat. "Is it gonna hurt?" Tony mumbled, searching blue orbs for the truth.

The back of Steve's fingers came to brush along his cheek, and those eyes softened like an afternoon low tide. "Maybe a little, at first, but that's normal."

"And then it feels good?" Tony continued, insistent like he were forming a hypothesis before testing so he could be prepared for the final results.

A quiet laugh bubbled against Steve's kiss swollen lips, and it was a good look for him. The mussed and wild hair, the no clothes. Steve should stay like this forever. "Yes, Tony. I promise, but if you don't like it, if it's too painful, if there is any point you want to stop, you have to tell me. Okay?"

Lethargically, Tony nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Steve nodded back, running a hand through Tony's hair one last time before standing up and making his way back into the counter.

Flipping onto his back, Tony spread his thighs wide enough to give Steve plenty of room. He watched intently as the blond popped the lid of the bottle open and rubbed the liquid between his fingertips to warm it. Steve held his other hand out, a silent question for a pillow, which Tony promptly gave, lifting his hips up so Steve could set it beneath them.

As Steve lowered his fingers, Tony felt his heartbeat pick up again, muscles immediately clenching. As much as he wanted this, craved it with all his being, a part of him was scared because he had no idea what this was going to be like, and Tony hated not knowing. The men in the videos he'd watched always seemed to enjoy themselves, but that was a whole big production, right? All lights, camera, and action!

His breath caught when the pad of Steve's index fingers pressed against his hole, his body jerking slightly, but the man made no move to push in. Slowly, Steve began to rub the muscles gently, in small presses and strokes. Tony's breath hitched at the sensation, clenching his jaw and readying himself to tell Steve to just get on with it! But then Steve took him by surprise, bending down and wrapping his mouth around the head of Tony's dick. It was like an electric shock had been administered, waving its way up his stomach and to his brain, leaving twitching tingles in its wake as his back arched deeply off the mat, mouth opening in choked pants. Steve's other hand came up to insistently press Tony's hips down, keeping the younger man in place as he slipped his tongue into the leaking slit and then taking Tony further into his mouth.

"Steve!" Tony sobbed, fists clenching the blanket he had covered the foam cushion with, feeling it lift and ball into his hands. The man hummed, and Tony jerked again, riding this most novel of sensations going off in his brain like a minefield of explosions. The back of his mind registered the slide of one of Steve's fingers into him, stroking unexplored territory in a careful manner, and he very slightly registered that while it did feel weird, it also felt kind of good. Like a piece of him had been missing and Steve was promising to fill that space. The larger part of him had sole focus on his dick and the way Steve's mouth and tongue were working it. The way teeth would briefly and just barely scrape the underside in overwhelming tugs and pushes of pleasure.

This wasn't going to last long at all if Steve kept this up.

"I can't," Tony heaved out. "I can't, I can't, I can't!" He reached a hand down to tug lightly at blond strands to further convey the message his words couldn't quite give, and Steve popped off, licking the underside one last time right as he worked in a second finger.

This stretch provided edges of a burn, and Tony let out a ragged breath.

"That's it," Steve pacified, petting Tony's chest. And Tony could do nothing now but focus on the feeling of Steve's fingers inside him. There was something to it. This felt singular. Intimate. It made Tony feel whole, and introduced the idea that it was Steve, specifically, who made him whole. This wasn't just about sex and pleasure. This was about them and who they were and who they were about to be. Whatever happened next was going to shape them as individuals and as a couple.

His thoughts were interrupted as Steve's fingers bent inside him and brushed against something that sent a flare to his brain. It took Tony a while to remember how to breathe while Steve continued to get that spot every few strokes, adding a third finger once he'd hit it again. They were walking a thin line, here, between searing pleasure and aching pain, but it was a surprisingly good combination that had Tony harder than he ever thought he'd be.

"Steve," he finally ground out, letting go of the sheets.

"Okay, alright," Steve agreed, sounding almost as breathless as Tony when he gave the younger man's inner thigh a quick kiss. And then Steve's hands were gone, and Tony felt alarmingly empty and open. He felt exposed.

Tony heard the wrapper being torn open and gathered enough strength to come up and watch Steve roll on the condom, a burst of arousal jumping forward, and finally, Steve was back. There was a moment where the older man held himself above Tony, looking passed his eyes and into his soul, and Tony felt raw.

Far more gently than he had thought he could be in a pregnant moment such as this, Tony reached up to caress Steve's cheek in his palm. Running his hand to the back of Steve's neck, he played with the hairs there before pulling the man down and pressing a kiss to pliant lips. There was no urgency here. No real anticipation or need. It was gentle and slow and comforting.

The entire universe seemed to snap into place like a rubber band. Everything had been leading up to this. Somehow, this was Tony's place. Here, with Steve and in his arms.

Steve guided himself towards Tony's entrance, and without breaking the kiss, he gently pushed in. Passing the first ring of muscle was the hardest part, and Tony did pull back, trying to take in a deep breath before allowing Steve to come back and kiss apologies into his mouth. Tony held onto it, allowing the slide of tongue and lip to ground him as Steve pushed the rest of the way.

Once Steve bottomed out, Tony felt taut, all his muscles clenched in a tight ball. If the thought Steve's fingers were something, it was nothing compared to the man actually being inside him, hips pressing firmly against the soft flesh of his ass. This was something completely different. It was as if Steve were everywhere, pressing himself into Tony's very soul. Time had stopped, everything on pause while Tony processed this moment. It was all so overwhelming, and Steve waited in his bubble with him; waited for Tony to adjust, for Tony to be ready.

Releasing a stuttered breath, Tony wrapped his legs forcefully around Steve's waist, pulling him farther in and making them both gasp. "Move," Tony rasped. "I'm good. I'm okay. Move."

Steve looked at him, gaze searching, but gave a slow nod and an even slower roll of his hips that had them both panting. Taking Tony's slightly deflated cock in his hand, Steve gave it a short tug, thumb circling the head in a way that had Tony wheezing, inching his hips to move in halting rhythm with Steve's. After Tony began moaning in pleasure, Steve let go, smoothing the hand across Tony's pelvis and hip, massaging the side of his thigh until it met with the back of his knee. Feeling the slight push, Tony shifted his weight to his right, setting his foot onto the mat, and Steve looped his arm around the leg, sitting up and folding Tony's leg over his shoulder.

That's what had Tony whiting out.

The minute change in angle had Steve rubbing that spot inside him with every sinuous thrust, dragging himself firmly over it every time.

Tony uttered in a cut off breath, a short, "Steve!" leaving his lips on the exhale.

This… wasn't going to last.

Steve enveloped him, cocooning Tony in his warmth, his own hips speeding up. Tony attempted to aid in their race to the finish line, but with only one leg and the pleasure building up like a typhoon beneath the surface of his ever tightening abdomen, he wasn't much use. If he'd have known it was going to be like this, he would've asked Steve to fuck him the night they got together. The fact that they would have been doing this the whole time, making Tony feel like _this_ the whole time, seemed like such a paltry waste.

"Please," Tony begged, knowing he was nearing the end but needing it to come anyway.

At his word, Steve bent down, folding Tony more than he thought capable, and brought their mouths together in the messiest, most memorable kiss of them all. The trail of coarse hair leading down Steve's lower belly brushed against the underside of Tony's dick, providing the last straw to this camel's back.

Hands coming up to cup Steve's cheeks, Tony pulled him even closer as he came, leaving any noises he made in Steve's mouth for Steve to take with him until he chose to let them go. Steve pulled away, taking leverage to chase his own orgasm, and Tony watch with rapt attention as Steve clenched in on himself, gasping out an aborted shout as he reached his climax.

It was stunning.

Tony had never wanted to move less in his life. He was utterly exhausted, feeling his muscles give way as he sunk languidly into the foam beneath him. The two stayed there, heaving breaths slowing down.

Eventually, Steve slid Tony's leg from his shoulder and pulled out, making Tony flinch. "Sorry," he whispered, leaning forward to peck Tony's lips and then getting up. "I'll be right back.

Tony let him go, closing his eyes and running his fingertips over his lips dazedly. His mind was muted, like his thoughts were under the shallows of a tide pool. Not quite out of reach, but far enough under that he didn't want to do anything more than observe them at a distance.

It was the touch of a cool, wet cloth to his stomach that had his focus sharpening. He watched contentedly as Steve cleaned them up, tossed the towel to the side, and crawled back into the countertop with him. Tony shivered, not having noticed the cold until the warmth of Steve's body surrounded him again, and he heard Steve chuckle low in his hear as he scooted onto his side so Steve could spoon up behind him.

Producing a blanket from what must've been thin air, because Steve was magical like that, Steve threw it over them and tugged Tony closer to his chest. Tony hummed, feeling the vibrations in his skull, and tugged a pillow over Steve's bicep to lay his head on. Steve's fingers absentmindedly played with Tony's own, and Tony watched through slitted eyelids.

"Are you feeling alright?" Steve whispered to him, breaking the silence. Tony hummed, squeezing Steve's fingers in confirmation before letting his hand go back to limply hanging over the edge of the countertop. "I didn't hurt you, did I? You- it was good for you, too, right?"

Pulling his arm back, Tony lifted himself up onto his other side and curled comfortably into Steve's chest. "It was… yeah," he sighed, eyes still working their way to closed. "It was wonderful."

He felt Steve nose the top of his head, possibly kissing him and lingering. The hand laying over the edge joined its counterpart to wrap Tony into a tight hug that had him suspiring happily and snuggling even farther into Steve's chest.

"Good," Steve said, and there was something odd in his voice that had Tony perking up. "That's good, 'cause, well, I, uh, I wanted to ask you something."

Blinking his eyes open, Tony pulled away to stare up at Steve, feeling his heartbeat pick up. "What? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No!" Steve insisted. "No, It's… well…" and Tony watched as Steve rolled over, digging in the pile of pillows bunched at the window before tugging out a ring. A cheap, twenty-five cent, red plastic ring with the Captain America shield on top like a faux diamond. "I wanted to ask you to, um, if you wanted, to go steady with me. I know this isn't the forties, so I know this may not be a thing, but I-I wanted to ask anyway because I want to be your fella and for you to be mine. And I get… I get that things are hard right now for-for being in an open relationship with another man, but you-we won't have to be public about it. Not until you're ready."

Tony stared at the ring in front of him, and his stomach clenched into knots. He almost couldn't breathe, and if he were alone, he just might succumb to the oncoming panic attack threatening to take over.

"Steve…" he breathed, eyes wide and on that goddamn ring. "Steve, you're going back in time. You- I built a time machine so you could go back home. You want to go home."

"I am home," Steve told him, lifting Tony's chin so that Tony couldn't look away from those eyes. "With you, I finally feel like I have a home. I don't… _want_ you to have done all that hard work for nothing, but I want to stay, Tony. Here. With you. When I first came here, I thought I wasn't going to have a choice. That I was going to be stuck here, and you gave me a choice. Gave me the option to go. Or to stay. And I don't think either of us expected _this_ , so, for a while, I didn't even see staying as an option. Until you kissed me, and I remembered I had the choice to stay. If you'll have me, I'd like to choose that option."

"The space time continuum…" Tony tried to argue, the feeling of wanting to throw up growing in the back of his throat. Because never had he wanted to say yes so badly. Never had he wanted to accept anything or anyone more wholeheartedly than he did right now. Steve was asking to stay. Steve was asking to stay with him. And Tony wanted to say, "Screw the whole fucking world and stay with me. Fuck everyone and everything else. Stay here. With me." He could say yes and destroy the time machine. He could keep Steve here and save him from the trenches. From the deaths. From his death.

And that's when Tony let himself realize and accept that niggling feeling tightening his chest.

He was in love with Steve.

"We'll be fine," Steve finished for him. "For all we know, I could have always meant to end up here."

As Tony looked into Steve's hopeful face, he realized that he didn't have the strength to say no. To tell Steve what he needed to hear. Tell Steve who he really was. So Tony did what he always did. Something completely and utterly stupid.

Pulling himself up so their faces were right in front of each other, Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's neck and mashed their lips together. "Yes," he breathed into Steve. Because the answer would always be yes. There had never been any other answer, and Steve needed to know that.

Steve was going to go home in the morning, and he needed to know that Tony would have always said yes.

* * *

 **Notes:**

And there is it, folks! We're wrapping up and getting to the end, so I hope you've all enjoyed the ride, and I want to thank everyone so much for all the comments and kudos. I love seeing all of your thoughts and opinions, and I truly appreciate everyone taking the time to leave a review, drop a kudos, or just read this in general.

I want to give an extra, extra special thank you to Cray Queen of Angst this week for taking time out of her super busy schedule to give this a look over.

07 Sunday 2019 will be the last chapter of _Shattered Watch_ , so I hope everyone is as excited as I am for it. Feel free to check out my Tumblr (alexrogersstark) any time for any updates on the story, previews for the final chapter, or updates on my writing in general because I like to think I have some exciting things coming your way.

Thank you all so much for reading, and I'll see everyone on the seventh! :)


	12. The Goodbye

_Chapter Twelve: The Goodbye_

Steve opened his eyes to bright, early morning sunlight. He squinted slightly as golden rays drenched and pooled around him, providing a soft heat on his skin and the air around him. Sleep continued to linger right behind his eyes, in that way it did when you could simply turn over to a more comfortable position and fall back into its earthy embrace. The sunlight seemed to give all the color around him a touch of amber, and the chittering in the workshop was muted to a pleasant hum that sounded almost natural.

The smell of sex, tainted with the familiarity of him, of _Tony,_ wafted around him indulgently, and he couldn't help the tickle in his gut as an affectionate smile smoothed his lips. With a contented sigh, he turned his head away from the window, feeling a pleasant ache in his muscles, and, in the process, moved his body along with it. Reaching his arm out, it fell flat against the mat, and Steve finally fully opened his eyes.

He hadn't woken up alone in weeks, and now was not when he had expected that other shoe to drop. Furrowing his brow and sitting up, Steve glanced around the workshop finding Tony nowhere to be seen.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

The A.I. needed no further prompting. "Sir left the workshop about two hours ago and has prevented me from accessing his location."

Immediately, everything seemed less tranquil. Quickly making his way onto his feet, Steve felt his muscles tug sharply at him, and he knew Tony had to be in worse shape. The young man should still be laying down, resting, and the fact that he was inaccessible to Steve was like the ice to this water bucket being poured on him cake.

Something was wrong.

Wracking through his thoughts as he pulled on his clothes from last night, Steve came up with about a million things that could have happened between last night and now. Tony's father could have easily said or done something. Rhodey or Pepper could have called with an emergency of some sort. Maybe Tony had wanted some coffee or breakfast and was now realizing that he wasn't in the best shape to be straining himself at the moment. He could already be hurt or in some sort of danger.

 _Breathe_ , Steve told himself, leaning back against the counter and gripping the edge, doing his best to follow his own command. The most likely scenario was that nothing had happened at all, and Tony only needed some space to digest everything that had happened last night. The young man had never actually been in a relationship before, so this was all new to him. He was probably just taking the time to process everything… That's all.

Eventually, Steve pushed himself away and opened his eyes. There wasn't much to be done here at the moment, so he began making his way back towards their dorm room. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a deep shade of blue, and a rather copious amount of bright white cumulus clouds crowded the skies, providing intervals of release from the relentless sun and its summer rays. The air, for once, was almost completely still, instilling a sense of serenity around the courtyard.

It was, however, difficult for Steve to truly enjoy these frivolities with a mind more clouded than the troposphere. Memories from last night vied for his attention, stopping him in his tracks on more than one occasion with a blank stare, an absent smile, and pink stained cheeks, but overwhelming curves of worry would tackle and disperse those distractions. So rather than feeling mitigated by the bright weather, Steve felt on edge, like this was the calm before the storm.

When he got to the dorm, Steve was only partially surprised to find it empty of the person he was looking for. There weren't many places he could think of for where Tony might be hiding besides the lab and the dorm. Steve realized, with a sense of displeasure, that maybe he didn't know Tony as well as he'd liked to. After the elation of everything coming together in a wondrous moment pure, unadulterated joy, it was disheartening to wake up to the reality of the weaknesses of their relationship coming to a head rather than the strengths. With time, Steve would hopefully come to perfect the ins and outs of being a good partner. The kind of partner Tony, in particular, needed him to be. That didn't quite help him right now, though, and something lay thick in the air, heavy in charged, bated breath.

Steve felt like he was already screwing this up.

He eyed the shoes and running clothes bunched up in the corner. God, he could really use a nice, long run right now to help clear his head. A part of him felt guilty for needing the release of endorphins and the fresh air to aid in his next steps of finding Tony, but he did his best to push that down. Guilt and other feelings, no matter how called for and accurate, weren't useful right now. Now, Steve needed to keep focused and do everything _he_ needed to do.

For the most part, Steve followed his usual running route, having bumped up his distance to three miles and cut his time to ten minutes per mile. He was proud of the accomplishment and had Rhodes to thank. That man pulled no punches when it came to literally beating Steve into shape. Not only did the man practically scream at Steve during "training sessions" – as Jim called them – but he also held no qualms in busting Steve with drills the man was learning from his own recruiter. It gave Steve a taste of the army he would never be a part of.

Unless… well, he could see if Tony would help create a new identity for him to solidify his place in the future. An identity without mention of asthma and constant trips to the hospital. It would give Steve the chance to fight for his country, the thing he'd been aiming for since eighteen. The growth and knowledge to become a better human being and come back a better man for Tony. It would allow Steve to fight for Tony in a way only serving in the army could let him.

But that was a thought for another time. A discussion to be had in a distant future where he and Tony weren't do new and stood on firmer ground.

At the last minute, Steve thought it best to run by Tony's favorite doughnut and coffee shops. On the off chance that he found the younger man within the next hour, Steve could – as he usually did – present Tony with food and coffee. Two of the best and sure fire ways to the brunette's heart.

Exiting Eyre Café with coffee tray in hand and the top of a brown paper bag containing a modest sum of doughnuts hanging between his teeth, Steve started making his way back towards the M.I.T. campus. The exercise and alone time had been good. Now, instead of barreling head first into the situation with his heart on his sleeve, he had a carefully crafted plan.

As he passed Hand-Me-Down-Books, Mr. Mosby waved at him through the window, gesturing for him to stop, meeting Steve in the doorway. Steve smiled down at the stocky elderly gentleman, giving a polite greeting and taking hold of the door. Mr. Mosby, from what Steve could tell after listening to the many stories the man had about his past heritage, was a square faced, quiet man of Asian descent.

The bookshop was breathtakingly decorated in a way that emphasized this. The walls were painted with red dragons and cherry blossoms and Hiragana and maps. When Steve had asked about it, Mr. Mosby proudly stated that he was the one who painted the store, taking the once concrete walls and giving his pieces a canvass of light, burn brown. He even took the time to hint at follicle textures that mimicked an aged piece of paper.

And while the wall themselves were gorgeous, the pieces places around the shop were beautiful as well. Steve knew for a fact that some of these pieces were antiques passed down the man's family. Brightly colored vases filled corners and statues stood guard by the door, watching over the things inside. There were benches and boxes with paintings on the outside and old books on the inside. Even a few of the bookshelves had carvings in their deep, maroon wood.

"Come," Mr. Mosby ordered him, heading into the shop without waiting for Steve to follow. Hesitantly, pausing to look back towards the campus, Steve did as the man said. He carefully placed the food and drink on the hollow glass counter where the cash register sat, another antique painted a now peeling pale green with deep red and gold trimmings. It was magnificent, like the rest of the store. Inside the glass case, a few statues lined the velvet carpet, and Steve watched as Mr. Mosby went behind the counter to grab the keys from one of the drawers behind him and open it up.

Sturdy hands pulled out a red teapot that Steve originally thought only served for display and two meager teacups. After some more digging around, the man also pulled out a small, square parcel, barely thicker than half a centimeter. It was wrapped neatly with brown packing paper and tied with two strings. One was twirled with red, white, and blue strands, some fine hints of silver embedded within the color. The second string was red and gold. The two were tied into a tight bow on the top, and, in a strangely familiar scrawl, Steve saw, written in black ink on the bottom right corner: Steven G. Rogers.

Mr. Mosby held up a finger, moving towards the back of the shop. "You wait here while I get the tea."

Steve's eyes followed the elderly gentleman as he left, and then eyed the strange package entitled with his name. Reaching out, his fingers brushed over the string gently, feeling the loop of the bow at his fingertips.

"It is for you," Mr. Mosby said when he came back with a steaming kettle and a small container of loose tea, making Steve jump.

Furrowing his brows, Steve looked between the parcel and the shop owner. "You got me a gift?" he asked as the man gestured for him to pick up the cups and move them to the table in the cozy sitting area while he poured the tea leaves and hot water into the flattened kettle. Taking the book in one hand and kettle in the other, Mr. Mosby made his way to the table as well, settling into the red cushioned chair while Steve sat on the couch.

Quietly, Mr. Mosby let the tea steep while Steve fidgeted uncomfortably, looking longingly back at his food and feeling a tad remorseful for wanting the man to hurry up so he could get back to Tony.

It was as Mr. Mosby was pouring the tea that he finally spoke. "I have been saving this for you for some time. I feel it is now the moment to pass it on."

Steve shook his head. "Mr. Mosby, you really didn't have to-"

"Hush," the man insisted calmly, lifting the dainty china cup to his lips. "Drink."

Deflating, Steve reached for his cup, blowing at the steaming liquid softly as he stared into the brown mixture. Carefully, he took a hesitant sip, eyeing the man across from his as he did so.

"Sometimes we are given things we do not understand," Mr. Mosby began. "There are times where these things are given with the intent that we are not to understand them, and other times where these things are given with the intent that we one day will understand them. And then there are the times where we are given things that have no need for understanding within the object itself, but will lead to understanding the person lucky enough to receive the object. The curse of humanity is that we are almost never to know which of these purposes objects hold. The gift of humanity is the opportunity to find out."

"I don't understand," Steve sighed honestly, putting his cup down.

Mr. Mosby smiled at him. "In this object, I found what it needed of me. Now, I pass it to you to do the same."

With a slight downturn of lips, Steve reached for the parcel, taking it in deft hands. He twisted the package around, looking for some sort of clue as to what he was supposed to understand from it, but nothing stood out. Carefully, Steve undid the string, setting it on the table before unfolding the paper to reveal its contents. Gently peeling away the wrapping, Steve found himself looking at the colorful cover of a comic book. A Captain America comic book.

Unlike the ones in Tony's workshop, the name of artist and the author were nowhere to be found. There was also no volume number beneath the large, bold font of: CAPTAIN AMERICA. What remained was a subtitle reading, "The First Avenger".

Mr. Mosby hummed, sparkling eyes scanning the contents of the package with a similar curiosity until he sat back, closed his eyes, and brought his teacup back to his lips, which were upturned into a smile. "What a rare find."

Steve stared at the book in his hands, mouth agape as he ran his fingers over the perfect, undisturbed cover. It wasn't bent, marked, or stained. It was spotless and looked to be practically new.

"I-I can't accept this," Steve breathed, looking to the older gentleman. "This must be some sort of collectable. I can't take this from you."

The man shook his head, a fire reaching his eyes as he looked at Steve pointedly. "It is rude to not accept gifts. This is yours." And then, as if almost an afterthought, Mr. Mosby leaned forward, gathering the string in his palm and placing them into Steve's. Pushing Steve's fingers inward, Mr. Mosby patted the fist. "I may also suggest you keep these."

"Why?"

The man smiled, standing up and beginning to gather the cups and kettle. "That is not my question to answer."

Looking down, Steve once again examined the comic in his hands as Mr. Mosby cleared away their tea. He wasn't ready to open it, so when the old man placed the coffees and bag onto the table in front of him, Steve mutely got up and left, feeling a little dazed.

The clouds had accumulated by the time Steve left, looming deep and heavy in the sky, and he wished he had noticed the worsening weather as they had been talking. Tony's adverse behavior to thunderstorms didn't slip Steve's notice, no matter how hard Tony tried to act otherwise. As he made his way back to Tony's lab, it, unsurprisingly, began to drizzle. Bursting into a slow jog, Steve did his best to protect the coffee and doughnuts from the oncoming storm.

Sliding into the lab, Steve sighed when he found it still empty. Setting the coffees and doughnuts directly into the microwave, he began heating them up in hopes of removing some of the water seepage from the rain. Leaning his hip against the counter and folding his arms, Steve asked J.A.R.V.I.S. if Tony had come back at all, seeing no particular indication of such.

"Sir has been in and out throughout the day, and I do believe he had been looking for you."

Steve nodded. Good. If Tony was looking for him, then, hopefully, the younger man would be back here to check one more time. It'd be better for Steve to stay in one place and let Tony come to him if and when the brunette was ready. They didn't both need to be running around like headless chickens.

Hoisting himself up onto the counter, Steve rubbed the corner of the mat, smiling fondly as he lost himself in recent memory. It wasn't until the chill of the cool glass fully sunk into his back that Steve was pulled from his thoughts. Sitting up straight and leaning away from the window and biting cold, he picked up the comic and began to read.

Reading this and looking at the pages felt… oddly strange. A bout of unsettlement reared its ugly head as he got closer and closer to the sickly kid from Brooklyn being injected with the super serum and becoming Captain America.

He didn't get a chance to go farther.

Just as Dr. Erskine was about to see his experiment finally become a success, Tony walked into the lab. And, to be honest, Steve probably wouldn't have noticed had the younger man not ripped the comic from his hands.

"What are you _doing?!_ Tony screeched, sounding winded, eyes wide and wild as he flipped the book over and scanned the pages.

"Hey! Be careful," Steve snapped, making a grab for the book only to have Tony hold it out of his reach and look at him in horror. "That was a gift from Mr. Mosby. What are _you_ doing?"

"Who's Mr.- Oh, nevermind! What does that even matter? I expressly told you not to look into the past! So I repeat: What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Stave raised an unimpressed brow, scowling at the brunette. Annoyance fluttered in his chest, and it was hard to keep down. Tony was starting an argument with him _now_? "I'm not sure how that matters much now since I'm staying here. Plus, it's a fictional comic, Tony. What's the harm? Now give it back," he demanded.

This wasn't exactly the morning after he'd pictured.

Tony narrowed his eyes, slapping the comic onto the table and sliding it away before folding his arms and raising his chin to look at Steve down his nose. Steve immediately felt his hackles rise to the occasion. "The harm is that you reading about the past in any way, shape, or form could have dire consequences. Especially that crap."

"That _crap_ was a gift. And I like comic books and Captain America," Steve argued, getting up and pushing passed Tony to get the book back. "I don't know why you're acting all crazy over a comic you have stuffed in your drawer."

"You looked through my drawers?!" Tony cried, dashing over to get the comic before Steve could make another grab for it. "Why are you going through my drawers?"

"Dammit, Tony! Give me back my book," Steve ordered, making a swipe for it from across the table. Tony stepped back, once again out of his reach. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Steve tried to stop the broiling currently cooking his brain. If he could think clearly for two seconds, maybe he could figure out what twisted reason, hidden messaged, mixed signal Tony was practically exuding right now. "Look," he began carefully and slowly. "I didn't go looking through anything, alright? Dum-E handed me the Mockingbird blueprint, and I just put it back where it belonged."

Tony leaned against the counter, glaring at him. "You're forgetting the part about rifling through my drawer and finding Captain America comic books."

"So what?" Steve ground out, exasperation lacing his voice.

"The space time continuum, that's what."

"I don't…" Steve began, trailing off as he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Looking around the room, he tried to decrease the speed of his breath. It gave him enough time to notice what he'd missed earlier. New wires were hooked up to the ray gun, leading outside towards that storage until Tony spent ages figuring out. There was also a new mark on the floor: a white "X" made from tape. And to top it all off, by the entrance to the lab where the door still hung open in bated breath, Steve saw his clothes. The ragged, worn clothed he'd arrived here in.

His stomach dropped.

"What's all that?" he asked, pointing around the room and settling on the clothes.

Not hearing an answer, Steve looked up to find Tony staring at him with "Deer Caught In Headlight" eyes. Blinking, he tried to give Steve an aborted smile before he looked away, eyes darting around the room as his mouth opened and closed with non-answers. Steve's eyes trailed down Tony's front, observing the way Tony's hands moved at the hem of his shirt. Nervous twitch.

"What's going on?" Steve repeated, voice coming out harsh as a tsunami of emotions flooded him. Fear, anger, sadness, confusion, and pretty much every other negative emotion in the book.

"Nothing," Tony murmured so quietly Steve almost didn't catch it.

Head going back to the pile of clothes, Steve realized his breathing was getting rapid once more. "What do you mean, 'Nothing?' That-" he pointed to the clothes, looking back at Tony, "is not nothing."

"I- we…" Tony began, still not looking at him, and goddammit, Tony had to look at him soon or he was going to lose his mind. Letting out an empty laugh, those brown eyes finally met his, and that was enough for Steve to know that the next words out of Tony's mouth were complete and utter bullshit. "It's not working, me and you," he insisted in a strained, muted tone. "Look at us. We're already fighting. It's not- you need…" he sighed, tearing his eyes away and biting his lip. "Steve," he whispered, voice sounding more than a little wet. "You need to go home."

It was at the name, though, uttered so small and morose, that clicked all the itching puzzle pieces together. It was a name mentioned only once in the comic still held tightly in Tony's fist. The name he'd skimmed over with no real care or thought.

Captain America's name… Captain America's name was Steve. _Steve_ the sickly kid from Brooklyn with a best friend by the name of Bucky. Jesus Christ. It was… _glaringly_ obvious

"Fuck," Steve heaved in a long, drawn out breath, falling back against the table. His knees felt a little weak. His body was shaking. Something wonky was going on with his vision. Everything was on silent. And maybe he had made his way down to the floor? He couldn't be sure.

Steve's thoughts seemed to be doing loopty loops in his head, and, for the life of him, he couldn't get any of them to stop and share their information. His stomach roiled, and he closed his eyes tightly to stop everything from spinning like some shitty teacup ride.

"I'm him…" he cut out hoarsely, taking in a shuddering breath and opening his eyes to look for Tony. If it wasn't for the bright resignation shining in depths of amber surrounded by skin already beginning to puff red, Steve might've thought he'd lost the last of his sanity. Though, to be fair, that could very well be the truth; however, Tony was nodding.

Steve let out a manic laugh that ended in a choked gasp. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to take this. "I'd be really pissed right now if I didn't understand time travel and all its intricacies," he got out, closing his eyes once again. It felt easier to breathe with his eyes closed. "I-I don't understand," Steve muttered after a moment's pause. "Just last night… we- I… Fuck. Tony, I don't-" he took in another breath as his hands came up to tug sharply at his scalp. "I don't get it," and he could feel Tony next to him now, be he couldn't bring himself to take his head from his knees. "Why'd you accept the promise ring if you were just going to send me back a few hours later?" he blurted.

Tony was quiet, and Steve could picture him kneeling down, twisting the ring on his finger, slowly and deliberately, staring at it with that horribly wonderful look of intensity. "Because," Tony began after his pause, and Steve heard Tony take in a breath. Opening his eyes slightly, Steve turned his head to watch the brunette. Tony looked devastated, and Steve felt his stomach give another lurch. His heart clenched like Tony had just reached forward, shoved his hand into Steve's chest, and was squeezing his heart into an unforgiving grip. "I love you," Tony whispered, closing his eyes like the words brought him physical pain, and he fell backwards, thighs coming on to his calves. "I didn't mean," Tony choked out, an ugly frown marring his beautiful features as one tear fell from his lashes. "I didn't want to-to tell you like this," he hiccoughed, another tear falling. "I guess… I guess I decided it might be-might be best if I didn't tell you at all. But I do, Steve," he said, sounding like he was pleading with Steve. Begging Steve to believe him. "I know I shouldn't have-shouldn't have accepted it. I _know._ But… for a _second_ , one single second, I wanted-I wanted to pretend what it would be like to have a forever with you."

"You love me?" Steve asked, feeling the world slow on in axis to a reliving stop.

Tony nodded, looking up to capture Steve's gaze. "Of course," he breathed and then buried his head in his hands, palms pressing into his eyes as his shoulders began to shake. "Yes," he repeated in a sob. "I love you, and-and it's not fair because-because I need you. I need you, but…" he let out a small whimper, still curling in on himself. "But they need you more."

Feeling his heart pound painfully against his sternum, the feeling of burning coming to the corners of his own eyes, Steve found the strength to unfold himself and pull Tony to him so they were a messy tangle of limbs on the dirty lab floor.

"I love you too," Steve answered, mouth feeling numb and grim. He wished he could've said those words at a different time. It was always about time, wasn't it? Because it was true. Steve loved Tony so much there was a physical ache in his chest when he thought he was going to lose Tony. They'd come so far, and he wasn't ready to give Tony up. He didn't think he ever would be ready.

"But you need to go," Tony finished for him, sucking in a few hiccupped breaths, gathering himself. Pulling back, Steve raised a hand to wipe some of the wetness from Tony's face, and the young man gave him a somber smile. Steve did his best to match it.

He nodded. "But I need to go."

"I'm gonna miss not seeing you after the serum," Tony said, playing with Steve's fingers. "I love you now, but you are going to be one hot piece of ass." Tony forced out a messy wolf whistle, and Steve let out an empty laugh.

Holding Tony's face between his hands, Steve brought their foreheads together, closing his eyes once more. "There's no chance of me coming back, is there?" He didn't mean the words to come out so optimistic.

Tony let out a wounded sound, shaking his head furiously and gripping at Steve's hands. "Please don't ask."

Steve nodded, then stilled. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, he just knew it wasn't long enough.

They pulled apart, and the lab filled with a frigid silence as Tony began setting up the device, and Steve pulled on clothes he hadn't worn in almost three months. They felt wrong, all stiff and scratchy. Although, there wasn't anything that didn't feel wrong at this point.

Stepping on to the "X," Steve watched as Tony positioned the ray gun to face him. He felt like an actor being instructed with place markers. Action!

More than anything, Steve wished he could stay a little longer. Say something, anything that would give them a few more hours, days, weeks, months. They had a time machine, for God's sake! But Tony looked at him with eyes that begged for relief, and Steve knew why he had to do this now. It was like a mercy kill. The person was going to die anyway, so shoot 'em in the head so they didn't have to suffer a few hours more pain.

Steve heard the wine of the machine starting up, and an eerily familiar white light began to build in his vision, slowing blocking out everything else.

"Wait!" Tony cried, rushing forward as the machine died down, throwing himself into Steve's arms. Steve pulled him close, burying his head in Tony's neck, and Tony held on just as tightly. "Do you have the compass?" he whispered, and Steve stepped back, looking down at Tony in question. "Your grandfather's compass…" Tony clarified, a taint of blush covering his cheeks. "In the comics, you, uh, you had this compass-"

Releasing one arm, Steve dug into his back pocket and pulled out a gold compass. He'd kept it under his pillow, most nights, wanting to keep it safe.

"This one?"

Tony stared at it in awe for a moment until remembering himself and nodding. Digging into his own back pocket, he began babbling. "I-I'm not sure if you want it, but, I just thought, well, maybe…" he trailed off, pulling out the picture he'd taken of them yesterday morning. "I wasn't sure of the exact dimensions, but I thought, if you wanted, that you could keep this."

Taking the photograph from Tony's hands, Steve found himself giving Tony a genuine smile. "I'd love to," he replied, flipping the thick paper over to see the words: "For the man who shattered time to get to me," written in messy, red sharpie.

Placing the picture and compass carefully back into his pocket, Steve reeled Tony in for one last, desperate kiss.

"I love you," he mumbled into Tony's mouth, breathing the sentiment into him.

Stepping away from Steve, Tony gave him a wavering smile, reaching up to brush Steve's hair from his eyes. "I love you too." And after a pause, he walked out of Steve's grasp, leaving him reaching for Tony.

The whirring came back full force, light growing brighter, and Steve's arms came up over his eyes. Distantly, he could hear J.A.R.V.I.S. speaking. "Sirs, the machine is at full capacity. Captain Rogers, you will arrive five minutes after your initial disappearance, giving the perpetrator enough time to have left the scene and be unawares of your return. The date and time: December 15th, 1940, 8:00pm. Location: Brooklyn, New York, Stark World Fair."

With one last look to the blurred image of Tony, Steve smiled. "I have to go," he called softly, wondering which of them he was really trying to convince.

"Go," he heard Tony answer. "Go save the world."

* * *

The scorching light filled the room, and Tony couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Crouching away from the beam, he put his arms over his eyes as if the light and heat could be pushed away. But just as soon as it began, the light faded, and Tony blinked his eyes to something he hadn't seen in months: an empty workshop.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.?" he asked, voice coming out like shards of glass, tearing through his throat and shattering into the air around him.

"Captain Rogers has safely made it back to his time. The mission was a success."

 **To Be Continued…**

* * *

 **Notes:**

Alright lovelies, that's… it. Wow. We've finally reached the end. I'd like to say that I truly appreciate everyone who's read, commented, and favorited this story. It really means a lot to me; especially to those who have been leaving comments on multiple chapters. I always look forward to hearing your thoughts every week and a half.

A round and vivacious thanks to Cray Queen of Angst for beta-ing this story. I really appreciated all her help and all her feedback. I look forward to working with her again.

Now, here comes the bad news. The update for Part Two of this story is going to be 10 March 2020. Ugh! I know! I'm so sorry for leaving everyone hanging for so long (okay, well, maybe not all that sorry). I do have a title for you, though. Keeps yours eyes peeled for the sequel to Shattered Watch, going by the name of: Fractured Compass. But herein comes the good news, right? I do have my reasons. Reasons I hope will make the wait worth it for you guys. ;P

If you want to keep updated on the next tale in the Mending Dials saga, please check out my Tumblr: Alex_Rogers_Stark. Feel free to reach out any time. This will also be where I update any and all of the rest of my story and Stony info, so all I can say right now is: Stay tuned, folks! I think you'll like what I have in store! ;)


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